


Five Stages

by RainaParker



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23985028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainaParker/pseuds/RainaParker
Summary: When solitude is your only comfort the interruption might destroy you, but it also might save you.
Comments: 99
Kudos: 106





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning- This piece will address both child abuse and a major character death. Please forgive me and enjoy the whump that will follow.

Meticulously the knife glided between the skin and meat of the animal. Connective tissue snapping as the blade smoothly seperated the animal from it's flesh. The process was one he had repeated dozens of times but each time felt different. Almost meditative in its repetition but distinct as new thoughts and old worries entered his mind. The approaching winter had fattened this rabbit and provided an extra layer to make soap with as his supply was running low. Reaching for a pail of water he noticed the light outside his cabin. At the same time his dog stood, heckles raised and teeth showing. The sound of rotor blades suddenly filled the one room cabin as a search light swept the dense forest. 

Dunking his hands in the water he quickly splashed the rabbit blood away and clipped a leash to Anubis. Moving to the door he reached for the shotgun leaning against the frame. The helicopter circled the tree tops searching in a grid pattern. He recognized the pattern, had been on helicopters flying low and searching the haystack below. For an instant he allowed himself to wonder about the men aboard. Was one of them young and borderline foolish? Would one crack skulls as quickly as ask questions? Was one focused solely on the mission simply to avoid reality? Was one saying a silent prayer that they all made it home? Was one quietly reviewing the inventory of a med kit in his mind? And finally was one sitting silently waiting for the chaos to subside, hoping his worst nightmare wasn't about to occur? 

He closed his eyes and stepped outside into the cool air. All the thoughts of those men evaporated inti the darkness. Those men who no longer existed. He wasn't sure they truly ever even had but now he was sure they didn't. Forgotten to like a wallet or a set of keys but more like a wound you only recall having when you bump it, when a new wave of pain rises up and doubles you over. 

Raising the gun to his shoulder he swept the immediate area surrounding the cabin. The motion was effortless, practiced, and methodical. It wasn't that he wanted to remember or was even consciously aware of his movements. It was that his muscles remembered how to hold the gun, move with purpose, and scan his surroundings. He allowed Anubis to take the lead and waited for a catastrophe that never came. The helo's rotors became a memory like so many others. The search light faded into the distance. 

He fell to his knees unsure of what exactly was happening on the normally quiet mountainside he called his. Anubis whined and licked at his hand urging him to get back up so he did. Trekking back to the safety of his four walls he considered grabbing more firewood but decided a cool night would be fine and he would restart the fire in the morning. There was enough to wood to cook the rabbit and as long as it wasn't wasted he would be fine. 

The morning sun filtered through the windows of the cabin. Rolling over he was greeted with a lick from Anubis and a wagging tail. The dog was curled against his side half under his blanket on the too small for both cot. Scratching the dog's head he rose. The adventures of the night before stored in his mind as nothing more than a bad dream to be forgotten. If it had never happened then the stirring of older worse memories hadn't either. 

Dressing quickly he planned his day. Traps needed to be reset, the rabbit's hide tanned, and more wood chopped. Thinking of the wood made him shiver and grab an extra flannel shirt in his way to the door. He'd sharpened the ax the day before knowing it was now definitely time to prepare for winter. 

The morning air was brisk and the wind called for rain as he called to Anubis and stepped outside. Off leash the dog wandered the land with his bose in the air. He watched Anubis for a moment before dismissing the odd behavior. 'Dismissing a dog's behavior is never a good idea' he chastised himself and turned back to watch again. But Anubis was no longer scenting the air and was simply laying on the cabin's porch. It was nothing. Nothing happened he reminded himself as he moved towards the leanto that stored his seasoned wood in order of newest to oldest. 

Within an hour sweat pooled at his back due to the sun moving higher in the sky and the vigorous work. Reaching into his pocket he snacked on a few pieces of venison jerky and removed the flannel he had needed earlier in the morning. After the short break he stood and stretched his back and grabbed the ax to continue. 

The motion of the ax was like the beat of a drum. Thumping and rhythmic. He'd chopped wood for five summers now, it was so routine that it required almost no thought. Hold high and slam down. Like sweeping a room for the enemy, point and shoot. Except he suddenly missed as the memory assaulted him. No it didn't happen. 

Sitting down on an uncut log he called Anubis from the porch. The dog trotted toward him before slowing and then stopping. The low deep growl from the ninty pound dog caused him to immediately stand and circle around wondering what threat the animal had sensed. Nothing had happened the night before but this deep in the wood he couldn't ignore the behavior. Bear and coyote had made appearences on this land, safety was not a guarantee. Seeing nothing he turned back to the dog who looked nervous, unsure, and fierce all at once. 

"Suche." His own voice sounded slightly strange to him as he gave the dog a command. Within seconds Anubis was circling the property and intend on entering the furthest part of the wood shed. Thinking better he grabbed the dog by the collar and made his way back to the cabin. Whatever was hiding in the woodshed would hopefully take the opportunity to leave and if it didn't he needed to be armed. 

Within the cabin walls he took a moment to calm Anubis and to allow retreat in possible. He had planned today in his mind and this was not what was expected. Plans were put in place for a reason. Plans and routine allowed for normalcy in a world that wasn't normal. He hated when things went sideways. Hated that he still thought of it. Of how everything could go to shit in a millisecond. 

Shaking his head he banished the thoughts, grabbed his gun, and opened the door. Leaving Anubis inside he slowly made his way to the woodshed using trees and his rain barrels as cover. The movements were instinctual but the solitude while doing them foreign. Alone he moved silently until he reached the leanto and entered at the side with the oldest wood. Working his way deeper into the structure moving toward the newest wood stacked in the very back he saw nothing at first.

With every step he hoped to find nothing. Hoped the dog had been spooked enough the night before, because yes something had happened the previous night, to react to nothing. To alert on the scent of a chipmunk or rabbit. But no matter how much he hoped he knew the dog. Knew there was a reason for his reaction. Knew as he turned the last corner that he would find something but nothing could have prepared him for what he found. 

His breath hitched and he stumbled backwards knocking into the wood stacked behind him. Gun immediately toward the ground and his finger off the trigger. His eyes narrowed as his brain attempted to process the image in front of him. 

Tucked into the corner between the wall and wood curled upon himself was a barely clothed and shoeless young boy. Leaning forward the first thing that was obvious was how cold the child was, flinching slightly he set the shotgun down and quickly gathered the boy in his arms. The child was unmoving but breathing. This cannot be happening was all he could think as he made his was into the cabin. 

Anubis met him as the door pouncing up and down and whining anxiously while attempting to see what his master was carrying. The dog instantly jumped onto the cot as the child was laid down and snuggled closely. "Good boy. Stay... both of you." The boy was clearly unconscious but that didn't stop him from saying it. Leaving the two he stepped outside and crossed the yard to gather an armful of firewood. 

Making a few trips he collected enough firewood to stay within the cabin for the day warming the child to a healthy level. All his other plans were immediately forgotten as he build a fire in the woodstove. Once it was warming up a bit in the cabin he went to the shelves against the far wall that he used as a pantry. Collecting some of the food he had recently canned for later in the season he dumped some green beans, corn, tomatoes, and peas into the largest pot he had the one he typically only used to can the food. Turning back he grabbed some wild turkey wishing it was chicken and barley wishing it was noodles instead. Adding water to the mixture and setting it on the woodstove to heat he hoped the child would eat the soup. He wished he had hot cocoa or candy to offer the boy but that would have required a recent trip to town that he hadn't bothered with this summer. 

As he stirred the soup he heard a rustle from behind and turned to see Anubis licking at the boy's bloody feet. He'd have deal with that shortly to avoid infection. He moved to grab his first aid kit and was only slightly disappointed by it's contents. Images danced in his mind of another kit. One that held everything and anything he could possibly need, some things he was sure he had no idea how to even use. He shook the thought away. The images of help fading into the recesses of his mind. 

He gathered gauze and antibiotic ointment along with tweezers and some hydrogen peroxide to clean away debris. Stopping to stir the bubbling broth he moved it further from the heat to allow it to cool slightly and hoped the kid would wake up soon. The kid. Glancing over his shoulder he watched the blankets risr and fall with each breath and noted that the child's breathing had evened out some. The only visible part of the child was a mop of blonde curls. Their kid was hurt. He shook his head at the thought. This boy wasn't his and there was no their. 

He watched as Anubis continued to lick at the child's feet and as the child pulled away from the dog. His mind danced as he slowly stepped forward. Fear of spooking the boy coursed through him as he took another step. The boy was shivering now which he thought must be a good sign. He was warm enough for his body to fight the cold now. 

He held both his hands up to the boy as a sign that he meant no harm even as the boy's face remained buried under the blanket. Taking a few more gentle steps he was now standing over the cot. Keeping his voice low and trying his best to act calm, to quell the fear surging, he whispered "Hey there little buddy." The words escaped his mouth before he even processed them and hit him hard. In his mind he was back with them, joking, laughing, simply being. He took a deep breath and desperately tried not to think about Texas, of a hardy laugh and twinkling eyes as jokes rolled accented if a tongue. 

The was a sniffle below the covers, the shaking intensified, and then a whimper that sounded almost like words. Slowly the blanket lowered and eyes peaked out. Eyes that looked like glass, shining with unspilled tears. He lowered himself squatting to meet those eyes. 

"I'm making soup. You must be hungry." The steadiness of his voice was a fallacy. Speak slowly and clearly. Remain calm. If you are scared or upset a child will be terrified. The words sounded in his head as if the speaker was beside him. But he wasn't, hadn't been for years now. His calm echo remained there though as the man pleaded for a reprieve from a past he was struggling to ignore. 

The boy's eye's widened slightly as his gaze darted around the room and then back to the man. Slowly he lifted himself wincing as his feet pushed down of the cot to sit up more. Tears leaked from his eyes for the first time. 

"You're okay. If you let me wrap them they won't hurt as badly. I know it hurts right now but I've got you." I've got you. He could almost feel the hand on his shoulder now. The sense of safety giving way to the reality of now. He exhaled slowly and gritted his teeth slightly. This his most painful memory. The smell of copper and ash filled his nose. Of frantically waving for the helo to land. Of tying the tourniquet around a limb he doubted could be saved while praying for the life to be. Of pushing fluids and morphine and guessing at the dose. He tried not to falter as the child watched the storm within him pass. 

"Are you gonna hurt me?" The voice that brought him back to the now was shaking. "I didn't mean to bother you at all. I was just so cold and tired. I meant to leave before you even knew I was here but I fell asleep I guess. I'm so sorry. Please don't eat me." The boy was pleading for his life and rambling quickly while he shook in fear and cold.

"Eat you? No buddy I don't eat kids." He sat back onto the floor. 

"Only adults?" 

He smiled. The terror in the boy's eyes was real but the absurdity of the question made him question this reality. "No I don't eat adults either... why do think I would?"

"My friends say that the mountain man eats people." The boy sat up more now that he was assured he wasn't a meal. 

"The mountain man huh?" The idea of being the local legend that childen feared amused him slightly but also made him wonder what had caused this child to risk cannibalism. What horror had caused the boy to run barefoot through the woods shredding his feet in the process? What propelled the child into his carefully isolated world.

"My dog is Anubis. But I call him Bis a lot. And I'm Brock." His name sounded familiar and foreign at the same time. Like hold his shotgun at the ready. Like a memory that wanted release. "Can I look at those feet?"

"I'm Max." He shifted to the edge of the cot pulling the blanket from his raw feet. 

"Nice to meet you Max." Pulling the first aid kit closer he moved closer. "So Max you gonna let me know why you're running the woods barefoot at night?"

Max's eyes shifted at the question and he winced as peroxide was poured over the first foot. "If you don't eat people how come you live way out here alone?"

Brock glanced up from his feet to his eyes. Nodding as he examined the cuts on the soles. "Fair enough." He wiped the ointment liberally. "The helo last night. They are searching for you. Eventually Sheriff Collins will come here to ask questions. Be nice to have a few answers before that happens." He wrapped both feet with gauze and reached for the ace bandages. 

A shadow crossed Max's face. A darkness Brock hadn't expected. A darkness he knew mirrored his own. "You have a gun here?" Putting away the medical supplies Brock nodded. "You should get it."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story seems to be getting quite a few hits but almost no reviews... Thank you to Marvel1301, king_shihtzu, TheLaurinchen, Wurdsmadder, nhardoy, and CamilleMadeAnAccount as well as 5 guests that left kudos on this work and to CamilleMadeAnAccount for always leaving a heart on my work. 
> 
> Please if you are enjoying this work let me know. 
> 
> As always thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Brock stood facing the darkness within the child. Max's face no longer showed the confusion and fear of a young boy. Replacing those emotions all Brock saw was resignation and anger. He rose and exited the cabin. Within the woodshed he grabbed his 12 gauge shotgun and noted the storm clouds moving in and the way the wind was picking up. A storm was moving in now. Grabbing another armful of wood he returned to the cabin. 

He set the shotgun by the door and dumped the wood from his arm by the woodstove. Moving quickly he moved to the windows and closed the curtains all but an inch allowing for visibility but limiting exposure. The wind outside was starting to howl through the trees as he returned to and reached under the cot Max was still curled on under the thickest blanket Brock owned. The boy was no longer shivering, he assumed that was good but for an instant wished Trent was there to confirm it. Trent. He missed him but he didn't deserve to. A heaviness overtook him as he thought about that day. He'd spent the last five years not thinking for that very reason. From one task he moved to another to stop the thoughts. 

The gun case opened with a click. It was dusty. He had no use for this weapon on this mountain until today. Assaulting here wasn't necessary until now. The smoke from the woodstove would draw out any threat near. He turned to ask Max for details but the boy had drifted back to sleep. This location wasn't ideal to defend. It was designed as a refuge not a fort. He regretted that choice for a moment. He wished he had someone to watch the rear window or rotate sleep with but it was unnecessary to worry about that now. He had hours before sleep would be required perhaps a day or two if he drank some coffee. 

It was mid afternoon before Max stirred again. In that time Brock had fortified the cabin as much as possible. He'd brought his recently sharpened ax inside prefering that no weapons be left available and placed trip wires connected to used cans in the less dense portions of the surrounding forest in the hope he could determine the direction their assailant was moving from in advance. He was as prepared as he could be without his brothers by his side. But he was unprepared for "Mr. Brock, I need to use the bathroom... do you have one?" Max looked at him shyly. 

"There is an outhouse." He stood and helped the boy to his sore feet. Handing him a pair of too big moccasins to slip on before heading toward the door. "We will go straight there and back. If shit goes sideways you get back here and lock the door behind you. Collins will eventually come here. You will wait for him. Do you understand?" The boy nodded. "And when we come back inside you will eat and explain." 

Opening the door he scanned the area and stepped outside with the boy sheltered behind him. They made it to the outhouse and back with no issues other than Mac shivering a bit. When he sat back on the cot Brock wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and placed a bowl of turkey and barley soup in his tremoring hands. 

Max tentatively took a spoonful of soup to his lips before making eye contact with Brock. "I was running because something bad happened." The boy looked away. It was a start. Not nearly enough information but Brock knew pushing the kid might completely shut him down and he needed to know what he was up against.

"You GI Joe or something?" The question from Max made his chuckle slightly and look away from the front window. 

"Or something. I'll make you a deal, I'll answer your questions if you answer mine." Brock glanced back out the window giving him time to decide.

"Alright. If I can go first?" Max wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulder as Brock pulled the only chair to the front window. 

"Deal. So what's your first question?" He didn't look back to Max focused on the front of the cabin. 

"Have you killed people?" Max almost whispered.

"Yes. I have. My turn. What bad thing happened?" His back to Max he answered. 

"Here? Have you killed them here?" Max rapidly asked pulling the blanket even tighter. 

"Not our deal. You answer my question then ask another."

"Someone got hurt." Max lowered his voice. 

"Not here. Who got hurt?" Brock turned slightly to watch him.

"My Mom. I think he killed her this time." The tears rolling down his cheeks verified his truthfulness. 

"It's your question." Brock lowered his voice to match Max's volume. 

"Why do you live way out here? People have a lot of stories." 

"I'm sure they do. I live out here because the last time I lived with people they depended on me and I failed them." Brock turned back to the window. He knew he needed to ask for details but Max was about to break and he wasn't sure he could get him back. "How old are you?"

"Twelve. Would you kill again... like if you had the chance?" Max shifted uncomfortably. 

"I don't look at it that way. It's not enjoyable, not like the chance to eat ice cream. More like if I didn't have an option, then yes." Brock stood and stretched. "Have you ever shot a gun?"

Max sat forward. "At my uncle's house, he let me shoot his 22. How long until the sheriff comes?" 

"I don't know. It's going to storm soon. Maybe tomorrow. Why'd you run up the mountain instead of to a neighbor's house?" He moved to the woodstove and poured more coffee for himself holding the pot up offering Max some. 

Max declined the coffee with a shake of his head. "Didn't think they'd believe me. Haven't before. Can I just tell you?" 

"Yes." Brock turned back from his position by the door giving the boy his full attention. 

"My Mom married him when I was seven. That was after my real dad died. He was a soldier like you or something." He smiled when he spoke if his father. "Anyway things were good for a little bit then we moved here and everything changed. He started yelling a lot. Then he hit her. She said it was an accident but he did it again." He sniffled but didn't cry. "When Sheriff Collins comes will you kill his deputy? That's why no one believed me." 

Brock exhaled slowly but kept his eyes on Max. "Yes. If he comes here to hurt you I will." Brock turned back to the front window. The type of anger that coursed through him was one he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years. It was a consuming rage that he could feel swallowing him whole. A rage he had long ago vanquished from his life with his self imposed isolation. He teeth ground together and his heart beat faster than he would like. "Do you want more soup?" 

"Yes please." Max stood on hobbled feet and took the soup. "You should eat too. I'll keep watch." He moved to the chair by the window and slowly lowered himself while balancing the soup. 

Brock poured a serving of the soup into a mug and sipped it while leaning on the back wall to the cabin watching the rear. And in those spots they remained with little to no conversation until the steady storm passed sometime before dawn and Brock noticed that Max was struggling to stay awake. Anubis whined as his head bobbed and Brock stood to guide him to the cot. 

It was midmorning when Brock felt himself starting to falter despite the coffee and the anger that still raged within him. Knowing the child had now slept for at least five hours he decided they would have to switch as much as he didn't enjoy the prospect of leaving a twelve year old on watch. It was simple though he had no choice as he felt his eyes drooping. 

"Feet feel better." It was all Max said as Brock woke him and took his place on the cot. As he laid with an arm thrown over his tired eyes his mind wandered to the last piece of his past that he desperately wanted to forget. Cerberus. The dog had saved his ass numerous times and as repayment he had missed the signs. He felt a tear run down the side of his face before he drifted to sleep. 

There was a chill in the air that hadn't existed before when he woke. Slowly rising he noted that Max was still alert at the front window but the wood pile had dwindled. Grateful the boy hadn't attempted to retrieve more on his own he got up. 

Anubis followed him to the wood shed each time he returned from the cabin. On his fifth trip the dog stopped and lifted his nose to the air. Brock watched him closely before grabbing another piece of wood to add to his already overloaded arm. Moving more slowly than he would have liked he turned back to the cabin only to be stopped by a low growl from the dog. In the tense silence he waited for movement scanning the woods. Cans. The rattle was distinct and to the South. From where he stood he had a clear view of the East. Dropping the wood where he stood he whistled to Anubis and sprinted to the cabin's door.

He grabbed the assault rifle as soon as the door was locked and secured. Max stood with panic written across his boyish features. Brock's finger on his own lips demanded silence. Crossing the room quickly he lifted the covers on the cot and pointed for Max to hide below it. It occurred to Brock that if two days ago someone had told him he'd be hiding a child where he normally kept an assault rifle he would have laughed for three days srraight, at least, but he wasn't laughing now. No, now he was lifting the covers back up to hand a terrified twelve year old boy his 12 gauge shotgun "just in case." It was whispered almost as a prayer. 

Brock moved from the front of the cabin to the South side wall where the gap in the curtains was only an inch wide. He felt his mistake before his brain caught up to the sound of the shot or the breaking glass. Stumbling backwards he also heard the small gasp from Max. As he went to his knees he knew that once again had failed to protect someone who was depending on him. When he fell forward, laid on the floor losing blood he could see Max, still hidden silently in terror as Brock lost consciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the reviews and kudos left on this work. My confidence as a writer took a hit this week but I'll at the least finish this piece. Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoy.

"Please wake up. I don't know what to do now." The small sob that escaped from Max brought him back to consciousness. His head lulled to the side to where he had left the child but Max was no longer hiding. The cabin was dark and colder now, he wondered if the chill was from the actual temperature or bloodloss. Groaning he attempted to move. In the darkness he heard Max shuffle closer. 

"Brock! I didn't know what to do." There was a pleading quality to his whispered voice. 

"Max," he exhaled slowly "gotta stop the bleeding."

"I did that." There was a sniffling hitch to the boy's voice that made him sound even younger than his tender age. "You still didn't wake up. It's been a long time."

Brock took a deep breath and tried to gain his bearings. The room was dark but there was artificial light outside. A draft blew in from at least one broken window and all the curtains were drawn completely. The cot was propped vertically against the South window. The cabin was in disarray. He had missed more time than he realized, it looked as though he had missed a firefight. 

Reaching out with his right arm Brock's hand landed on Max's leg. The kid was shaking. From the touch Brock could almost feel the fear coursing through the child. "Are you hurt?"

Max shifted closer. "No."

"Good. Help me up." Brock rolled onto his right side. The spotlights outside shined enough to illuminate the interior of the cabin slightly. Sitting up with Max's help he looked down at his left shoulder and arm for the first time. "What did you use to wrap this?"

"Umm I used your first aid kit and flannel shirt. I cut it up. I'm sorry." His words were clipped and rapid. 

"You did good Max. Can you get a t-shirt from that trunk over there?" Max moved without responding and handed him a shirt which he quickly used as a makeshift sling. "Max I need to know what is happening outside. I'm going to move to the front window but I need my gun." He scooched across the floor as Max reached for the 12 Gauge. "The other gun kiddo."

Carefully rising Brock got his first look outside. Surrounding his cabin were spotlights, atvs, and armed men. Sinking back below the window he sighed and whispered "fuck."

"I'm scared Brock." Max shifted closer. "Are we gonna die?"

"Nope. I've been in shittier situations." He knew he was lying but his desire to comfort the boy outweighed his moral obligation to the truth. Anubis whined and laid beside Max. 

"Where will I go when all this is over?" Max hugged himself. 

"I don't know." The boy seemed too alone but Brock had no way to assure him he wasn't so he didn't try. "How'd you know to wrap my shoulder?"

"When my Dad died, my Mom, she saved his stuff for me. He had a book TCCC." Max's eyes looked to Brock for clarification. 

"Tactical Combat Casualty Care. Your dad really was the 'or something' huh?" Brock stated knowing the manual used by Rangers. 

"I pushed the gauze into the hole before I wrapped it. Did I do it right?" 

"Yeah buddy. You did. Doesn't even hurt that bad now." Brock smiled at him as the boy looked proud of his work. "I'm sure your Dad would be proud too, buddy."

"Were you in the Army too?"

"Navy." Brock hid the wince that movement caused, wished he had morphine. 

"Who's Trent?" Max seemed afraid to even ask the question. "You uh you said that name when I was putting the gauze in..." Max's words fell away. 

Brock sat silently staring straight ahead but also into the past for a long time before saying "Trent Sawyer. He was my best friend. He was my brother." 

Max said nothing. Just sat with him. He knew he might die today but he also suddenly knew it would be with a man more like his Dad than his Stepfather. He wished he hadn't believed his friends when they said terrible untrue things about the mountain man. Wished he had come here sooner, maybe he could have saved his Mom.

Brock briefly thought about leaving the cabin. Explaining to Collins what was happening but reconsidered. If the deputy had killed his wife who was to say Collins wouldn't cover for him. Twice a year the man came to 'check in' with Brock, once in the fall and then again in the spring. Brock assumed it was to stop some poor hiker from finding is decomposing corpse but he appreciated it. That appreciation wasn't enough though to risk Max. 

"What happened? To Trent?" Max continued to stare straight ahead mirroring Brock. 

Brock glanced toward him then back facing forward. "I failed." The chatter outside was noticeable now. Radios squawked. Brock wondered how long until the cabin was stormed, until this was over. He hoped Max would survive, doubted that he would. 

"You said." The quirk of his eyebrows made Brock want to laugh reminding him of Clay. Somehow it didn't hurt as bad to think of them now. He turned toward Max. 

"I had a dog then too. It was my job to make sure he was trained properly and would alert when needed. He didn't. There was an explosion." 

"Did Trent die?" Max looked back at Brock. 

Brock didn't answer the question. "We were a team of eight that day. Nine if you include Cerb, my dog." Brock shifted his left arm higher and tilted his head back as the pain washed over him, fighting to stay coherent. 

"How many died?" Max knew loss and saw it in Brock. 

"Three if you include Cerberus." Brock lowered his head back. Anubis whined at his owner's distress. 

"And you think it's your fault?" Max shifted slightly. 

"It was my fault. If I had seen the signs that Cerb was burning out it could have been avoided." Brock pulled the gun closer.

"If I had come here before instead of waiting would you have helped my Mom?" Max swallowed back tears.

"It's not the same Max." Brock attempted to crouch and get a glimpse outside.

"How isn't it? You missed something and people died. I missed something and my Mom's gone." The anger in his voice was biting. 

"What did you miss Max?" Brock glanced over his shoulder. 

"You." Max crawled to the rear of the cabin staying low. "And now she's dead and we will be soon." 

Time passed without words. The night was cold and Brock wished he had more wood for the fire. Anubis stayed next to Max and they shared a blanket as Brock continued to keep watch at the front. 

Brock woke to a voice through a megaphone. "Reynolds I know you're in there. You need to come out with your hands up so we can sort this out." Collins said it calmly but Max scurried across the room to Brock anyway.

"What do we do, Brock?" Max was starting to panic.

"Nothing. We do nothing Max." The dizziness he felt was a bad sign but he didn't want to scare Max more so he said nothing about it while wishing Trent was here to help him. "Hey Max do you have any aunts or uncles? Cousins who are older than you?" Brock was hoping if only the boy made it out of here there would be a family somewhere waiting for him. And frankly he needed to talk or he would quickly lose his battle against oblivion. 

"Not really. I have a godfather. His name is Steve but he's still active duty so I doubt he could take me." Max laid his head down onto Brock's lap. 

"Hey Max I'm really starting to struggle here. If I fall asleep I might not wake back up." Brock lowered his head to look at the scared boy. "I need you to talk to me. Keep me awake."

"Talk about what?" Max turned his head to look him in the eyes. 

"Not sure." Brock tipped his hear back resting it against the wall. "But I'm fading fast kiddo."

"Okay then you talk... Tell me about Trent." Max knew he could talk about his Mom or Dad for hours if someone asked him to so he used that against Brock. 

Brock chuckled. "He was our medic. Rode my ass to take care of myself but ignored his own needs." Brock lifted his head higher. "I had five brothers. Trent made sure we were all good. Even took care of Cerb when needed." 

And that is how Brock ended up rambling about Bravo to Max as the exhausted boy slipped in and out of sleep. He told him details he had noticed and theories he had. That maybe Clay could never actually be good enough in his own eyes, that Jason couldn't not compartmentalize his life, that Ray believed so strongly because he was afraid of the man he would be if Godless, that Sonny's go-to emotion was anger because he viewed the others as weakness, and that Trent's biggest fear was losing a brother. He told Max anything he could think to tell him about his brothers, the good, the bad, and the ugly. He told him about almost losing Clay in Manila and Ray's lapse of faith. He talked about Sonny and the damn torpedo tube. And he shared the funny things that had happened. Golfing after losing Adam and Sonny vomiting snakewine on Shaw's boots. 

He spoke until his mouth and lips were dry. Talked until his throat hurt. Until his eyes dipped closed. Until he was no longer aware of anything real. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He drifted through the streets of Venezuela. He'd been here before but couldn't remember when. Everything felt wrong in a way he couldn't explain. Cerb was leading him as they ran. Sonny was complaining. Trent kept pace with him. Clay was high. Jason and Ray in the middle directly behind him. Metal and Thirty were breaching at the rear. His skin tingled with apprehension. Everything felt wrong. 

Trent moved to the doorway after Cerb gave the all clear. 

It was hot. Hotter than he remembered. The humidity made it feel as if he was walking through the steam of a cooking pot. It felt wrong. He was laying on his back. He shouldn't be laying down. His ears rang obscuring any real noises. Moving felt impossible. Everything felt wrong. 

Brock rolled to his side and saw for the first time what he didn't want to see. Cerberus was laying five feet away, gone. Sonny was just beyond him, the smell of burning meat. Scorched earth threatening to swallow him whole. Trent. Trent was at the door.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Max was leaning above him rubbing his sternum and pushing down with more weight that he had. "Hey! Hey don't do that! No sleeping."

Brock groaned and thought of Trent. Trent laying in the open. Trent bleeding. He thought of the screams as he pulled the turniquet as tight as possible. Trent would not keep the leg was all he could think at the time.

"I'm awake, Max, I'm awake." He gasped slightly at the memory. "Trent lived that day. Max, someday... tell him I'm sorry."

Max watched as Brock slowly slipped away again. He wasn't able to keep him awake. Brock was dying and that was on him. If he hadn't stopped here then this wouldn't be. Brock reminded him of his Dad. Biting his lip he rose. His Dad wouldn't let this happen. And he wouldn't sit by while a good man died. Standing he moved to the window. 

Max cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled through the curtain and the broken window. "Sheriff! I have a man down in here. If you don't want this to end even worse you'll find Trent Sawyer and get him here." Max had tried his best to sound older, braver, bigger than he was. To be like his Dad. To be like Brock but once the words were out he slid down the wall and sobbed. Brock laid still beside him.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ringing of his phone startled him awake. Shifting he reached to his nightstand and looked at the screen. The number was unfamiliar but the area code wasn't. 

"Sawyer." It wasn't how he normally answered but identifying himself immediately seemed necessary this time. 

"Mr. Sawyer it's Sheriff Collins. We have an issue."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEAL team RENEWED for season 4! Celebrating with this chapter. 
> 
> I also want to thank everyone who was kind enough to review and leave kudos o the last chapter. I truly appreciate the support.

"Trent, I swear to God someone better be dead. It's two in the morning!" Jason's voice was heavy with sleep. 

"Jace. Get the guys it's Brock." Trent had a panicked tone that had Jason throwing off his comforter. 

"How bad?" He was moving threw his apartment while dressing. "Trent! How bad?" The answer wasn't coming fast enough. 

"I don't know Collins called. Said there's a stand off at his place. Wants help handling it so he doesn't have to call in the feds. Jace, there are wounded."

"Fuck. I'll grab Ray on the way. Sonny is staying with Clay anyway. I'll see you in an hour." The call disconnected. 

Trent was aware of the fact that he was driving entirely too fast but didn't slow down. His mind was racing almost as fast as his SUV. He was no longer in Virginia at all instead he was in Venezuela on the last mission he would ever go on. He was bleeding and dirt covered. Someone was screaming, their voice distant. And Brock was there. He wondered who was screaming. Brock leaning over him. The screams seemed louder now. Brock tying a turniquet. The screams continued. Brock giving him morphine. The screams quieted. It was then that Trent knew the screams were his own. 

Traveling down the dirt road he wished he could have done more. The look in Brock's eyes in that Venezuelan street never left. There was a brokenness none of them could fix no matter how they tried. And they had tried. Explaining, talking, yelling, ordering, hell Trent had even tried begging and crying late one evening right before Brock had walked away. 

Within five months of that Venezuelan night Brock was gone. But like the pain of his phantom limp the hurt remained. Trent felt the tear run down his cheek as he sped through the Virginia night. 

He could see the lights in the forest before he had to abandon his vehicle and walk the remainder. Leave it to Brock to force a one legged man to hike through the woods in the middle of the damn night. He actually wanted to be mad but even that thought couldn't force the anger to replace the worry. 

"Collins," he called out to the man as he approached. "What the hell happened?"

"Sawyer, thanks for coming man. Don't need the feds here to Ruby Ridge the place." The sheriff stood with four deputies under a tent they were using as a makeshift command center. "Three nights ago we received a no response 911 call from the house of our newest Deputy. Miller's only been with us a year or so. We get there to check things out and he's gone. His twelve year old stepson is too. His wife was beat to hell Sawyer. I thought she was dead until she whispered the kid's name. We got a call from Miller yesterday saying the kid killed his Mom and he'd tracked him here. Kid's inside and shooting. We could hear rounds being exchanged." 

"You believe him? That the kid did it?" Trent turned toward the cabin.

"Not for a second. He's in custody until we can talk to the wife and boy to figure out what exactly the charges are." Collins shook his head to reiterate.

"The man's a wifebeating asshole but your buddy inside doesn't have a phone and doesn't trust us, has a reason not to I guess." The closest deputy supplied. 

"One of them called out that the other is wounded and asked for you by name." Collins finished. 

Max crawled across the floor to look out the back window. Brock was paler than before. There wasn't as much time as he had thought. 

Shuffling back he placed a hand on Brock's chest. If his breathing changed then he would call out to them. He would have to risk it then, he'd just have to pray they didn't kill them both. Brock was flat on his back and slowly Max laid down beside placing his head carefully above Brock's heart. The beat was slow but steady. 

Max let his own eyes close comforted by the rise and fall of Brock's chest. Laying here reminded him of being little and falling asleep with his parents when his Dad was home from deployments. Of stovetop popcorn on movie nights and watching for shooting stars after the fire burned out while camping. Max felt safe here with Brock despite everything. He wondered if he would ever feel safe again.

"Brock I'm here. The sheriff called me and I'm here. Please come out." The voice from the megaphone did nothing to stir Brock. 

Max slowly crawled to the front window and tried to see out. Bright lights blinded him and he ducked lower. "He's not awake." It was all Max could think to say as exhaustion overwhelmed the boy and he wondered if the new voice actually belonged to Brock's brother. 

Trent felt like his heart was about to beat out of his chest. There was no way Brock was sleeping through this chaos, his brother was unconscious. His brother was wounded and unconscious and he had absolutely no way to get inside to help him. Turning to the closest deputy Trent asked "What is the boy's name?"

"Max Cooper. He's a good kid. Quiet though." The sheriff replied from behind him. 

Trent lifted the megaphone back up. "Max this is Trent again. You said Brock is asleep but I'm worried. Can you tell me some things?" 

Max listened as the man calling himself Trent spoke into the megaphone. He wanted to know how many breaths Brock was taking per minute. What his pulse was. How long he'd been unconscious. About how much blood he had lost. Max didn't have a clock. He had no way to measure any of the things the man was asking him. Max moved back away from Brock and back to the window. "If you really are Trent you'll be able to answer some questions for me." 

"Alright Max. What are your questions?" Trent felt bad for the boy but he was losing patience. The sound of boots behind him told Trent his brothers had arrived. He could hear the hushed tones of Collins explaining the situation. Behind him he could feel Jason's annoyance, Ray's worry, Sonny's irritation, and Clay's determination. 

Max knelt on sore knees near the window. "Trent I'm blind wanna lower that light?" The sheriff immediately shook his head. 

"Collins says no Max. Listen I really think Brock needs some help I'd like to be able to do that." Trent steadied his voice. 

"Where did Clay hurt his leg?" Max yelled back. 

"Manilla." Trent turned and watched Clay as he rubbed the top of his right leg.

"What sports teams won't Jason shut up about?" Max dared to peak his head up higher. 

"The Eagles, Flyers, and Phillies." There was humor in his voice. 

Max rose to his knees. "Who threw up on Shaw's boots and why?" He didn't duck back down this time. 

Trent chuckled and turned to see the reddening of Sonny's cheeks before responding. "Sonny and Snakewine." 

Max ducked down this time disappearing from the window. Trent and the rest of Bravo held their collective breath waiting. Thirty seconds passed and then a minute. 

"Max what's going on in there?" The response was the cracking open of the cabin door. Slowly it opened more and the barrel of the 12 Gauge was visible. The sheriff and his deputies on alert as it lowered toward the ground. The door remained slightly open as the assault rifle was pushed out stock end first. Once the guns were no longer inside Collins radioed for the medics stationed a mile down the dirt road and moved forward along with his deputies and Bravo. 

Max took a deep breath as he pushed the door open further allowing light to spill into the darkened space. Turning he moved back to where Brock laid on the floor. Crouching down he sat next to Brock whispering. "It's okay now Brock. It's all gonna be okay. Trent is here. He will know what to do."

Trent felt his breath catch in his throat when he stepped inside the one room cabin. By the front window in the darkness he saw an impossibly pale Brock. The boy he had negotiated with minutes before leaning over him whispering. Brock unmoving. 

"Hey Max I'm Trent. With me are Jason, Ray, Sonny, and Clay. We are gonna help him now." Trent moved quickly toward them as Collins and his men stood back and secured the weapons. 

"Thank you." It was a simple phrase but as Max sat back he couldn't think of anything else to say. Images of his Dad and Steve along with the rest of their team flashed in his mind as these men moved closer. Scooting further back Max imagined himself melting away into the wall, disappearing from the horror he created by coming here.

As Trent started assessing Brock's condition Jason ran his hands through his hair pacing the small space. Sonny walked the interior of the cabin looking at the damage the initial firefight had caused and wondering why Brock chose this life, instead of accepting the help of his brothers. 

Ray was vaguely aware of Trent calling out information to the deputy assisting him, apparently a volunteer EMT. His main focus was the prayers he was silently praying, lips moving with no sound. 

"Trent, how is he?" Jason's words echoed off the cabin walls. 

"Alive." Trent responded grudgingly. 

At the response Max sobbed loudly curling in on himself. Hyperventilating. Clawing at this own arms desperately trying to breath. 

Clay calmly knelt beside the child. "Hey buddy." Reaching out he placed a calloused hand on Max's arm. "It's okay. He's gonna be okay." Max leaned into his touch more than Clay was expecting. "Let's get you out of here." 

As Clay lifted the child he squirmed slightly. "I wanna stay with Brock."

"We're gonna give Trent some room now." It was all he said as he exited the cabin with most of Bravo following. 

Ten minutes later Bravo had carried Brock through the woods on a backboard and into the waiting ambulance. As it pulled away carrying two of their brothers the four remaining men felt like the air had been sucked from their lungs. Max stood silently beside them closest to Clay and shaking slightly. 

Sheriff Collins stepped closer to the five before speaking. "Max we'll need to talk to you but I'd like for you to go with these men first. Your Mom is at the same hospital they're taking Brock to and I want the doctors to make sure you are okay too." 

Max looked at him with disbelieving eyes. "She's alive? He didn't kill her?"

Clay turned at the desperation in Max's voice and caught the child as his legs gave out to exhaustion and the emotions he had desperately tried to keep inside. The boy went completely limp in his arms. "Alright buddy let's get you off this mountain." They walked the rest of the way to the two vehicles they brought with them and Clay handed Sonny his keys while climbing into the backseat with Max still held close.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly I want to thank everyone who has reviewed and left kudos. For some reason this story is more important to me than others I have told. Maybe it's the world around us seemly falling apart, I'm not sure honestly but this one means more so knowing it somehow means something to someone else is important. Anyway I'll stop rambling I hope you all enjoy.

Arriving at the small hospital in the early morning hour they found Trent sitting in the ER waiting room. Filtering in silently they sat. Jason beside Trent a comforting hand placed on his shoulder. Max had followed them without a word. Collins had told him to get checked out but the child looked lost and unsure. Clay sat next to him wrapping an arm around his shoulders while Ray walked up to the triage desk. 

Returning Ray squatted in front of the boy. "Max the nurse is going to take you back now and make sure everything is okay." 

Max shook his head. "I'm good here." Max made no attempts to move and maintained eye contact defiantly with Ray. 

Sonny's laughter filled the small waiting room with increasing volume until the Texan was near hysterical. 

"Hey Son wanna tell us what's so damn funny?" Clay spoke as they all stared. 

"Two days with Brock and the kid denies anything is wrong while his feet bleed through gauze." Sonny was still laughing as he said it but Trent stood. 

He took two slightly shaky steps to Max before pulling a chair across from him and sitting. "I get it. He helped you and you want to make sure he is okay, trust me when I say we understand, but you need help too Max." Trent leaned forward with his elbows meeting his knees. 

"Trent..." Max's eyes were water filled as he also leaned closer. "I really thought he was gonna die. He called out for you." Tears fell as he stumbled for the words his face inches from Trent, who was himself struggling to hold back tears at the thought of Brock seeking his help. "He said he was... he was fading. He was dying and I couldn't help him." He gasped as the words left his mouth. 

"Max he didn't die. He's getting help now." Trent took the child's hands into his own. 

"I shouldn't have fallen asleep in his shed. If I had just kept moving he would be fine." The room was silent as the pieces came together and the men began to understand. 

"Max Brock wouldn't have wanted that. For you to be on your own. And I'm sure when he's feeling better he will tell you that himself." Jason moved closer as he said it. 

"And you helped him. There's no way he packed his own wound. You did that right Max?" As the words left Trent's mouth he heard Sonny whistle. 

"Yeah. I wasn't sure how but it was bleeding too much to not try." Max lifted his eyes to meet Trent's. 

"Max I'd honestly rather have you pack a wound for me than any of these fools. You did you."

"I take offense to that." Clay smiled. 

"I'm with Blondie." 

Max smiled at Trent before saying. "I'm not going until we get an update." The nurse standing in the doorway turned and left. She returned a few minutes later wish antiseptic wash, fresh gauze, tape and a pair of clean hospital slippers. Trent took the supplies with a grateful nod as she whispered "he feels safe with you all, lets leave him here for now."

Once his feet were cleaned and rebandaged by Trent Max curled up in the chair and slept. Together they waited for news of Brock. The room brightened with the day before any of them realized the time. It was Ray who broke the silence. "How do you think Max got him to talk when none of us could?"

"Maybe he was just ready." Clay ran his hand down his beard. 

"Maybe he felt safer with a kid?" Sonny rose and stretched. 

"It could be that he was trying to distract him or make him feel safer." Trent wandered to the coffee machine. 

"One of us comes out here at least twice a year and sends Collins out to check on him and a twelve year old gets him to open up." Jason shook his head. 

Max shifted slightly trying not to make it obvious that he was awake. He hadn't been trying to eaves drop but now he didn't know what to do. Figuring there was no sense in his ruse he sat upright before saying "Or maybe he was just fighting to stay awake because he knew I'd be alone if he stopped talking." Max gently lowered his injured feet to the floor. 

Before anyone could respond the doctor walked into the waiting room followed by Sheriff Collins. "Gentlemen he's alive. He went into hypovolemic shock which basically means he lost too much blood. We have given him numerous transfusions and he is stable but still unconscious. We were able to surgically repair the bleed. Honestly he's very lucky. He should be just fine. Visiting hours aren't for a few hours but you can wait upstairs if you'd like." The nods he recieved relayed their understanding and relief. Turning to Max he continued. "You must be Max. I hear you've had a difficult few days and the nurses said you have refused care from anyone outside this room." Max looked down after glancing at Collins. "You have your update on Brock now Max. I'd like to take a look at you but I would prefer to do it upstairs with your Mom, she woke up about an hour ago and is very worried about you." Before the doctor finished speaking Max stood on his sore heels and started shuffling forward. Stopping he looked back at the men now rising to wait elsewhere.

"You want us to get you when he wakes up and he's ready to see you?" Trent noticed he was stalling. 

"Yeah and umm Trent could you maybe uh come with me to my Mom?" Max tilted his head in shame at the fear he felt.

"Yeah buddy I can walk you there." He placed a hand on Max's shoulder and together they followed the doctor out with Trent reminding himself the whole way that Max was still just a child regardless of the last few days. 

It was forty-five before Trent found them lounging in the light blue upstairs waiting room. Trent felt like a year had passed in the last day. He was exhausted in a way that only stress could induce. 

"You good?" Jason raised an eyebrow.

"Leg hurts." Everyone in the room knew exactly what he meant. The limb had been amputated years before but occasionally and especially when he was tired or had too much on his mind the pain from before returned. Leaning back in the chair so his head rested on the back he closed his eyes. "Max's godfather is on his way to help them out. Kid's dad was KIA when he had just turned seven. He was Delta... Jack Cooper." He leaned forward and opened his eyes taking his the surprise on their faces. 

"Does he know?" Ray asked quietly. 

"Ray are you seriously asking me if I just told the kid that the mission that went to shit five years, the one where we lost Thirty Mike and Cerb, the one that took my leg, burned Sonny to hell, knocked Jason into a TBI induced retirement, fucked your shoulder beyond repair, and destroyed Brock was a failed rescue of his father? For Christ's sake Ray. No, he doesn't know." 

The news was oppressive. A weight that felt like it might destroy any hope they had for Brock fell upon them. The minutes ticked by endlessly as they sat together but felt alone. 

Finally a nurse popped her head into the room to let them know Brock was awake and being interviewed by Collins. She smiled sadly when she told them he had agreed to see them before ducking back out. It must have taken convincing was the consensus.

"Who's gonna tell'em?" Sonny asked as they slowly walked down the short hallway. 

"I will." Jason slowed his pace even further. 

"Jace, I'll do it." Trent stopped to lean on the handrails that lined their path. "Just not right away, okay?"

Brock sat on the inclined hospital bed knowing what was about to happen. In the five years since he had seen his brothers he had desperately tried to forget that night and it's aftermath. At first he had truly believed he could move passed it. He had tried to open up but each time felt like the wrong time. Like their pain certainly had the right to outweigh his own until it became an impossibility reopen the wounds they all carried and he knew their only hope was for him to go. Yet now here they were filing into his hospital room. His room. 

His mind flashed back to the weeks that followed that failed mission. To other hospital rooms. To their rooms.

He could still smell Sonny's flesh as it was debrided, no amount morphine was enough to stop the tears that came and when it was over Brock's own tears came in the small bathroom outside the burn trauma unit. 

In another room he could still picture the look of fear on hus brother's face as Trent reached for his lower left leg. Amputated just below the knew. The confusion as his brother cried to him that it still hurt. 

In a room down that hall he knew so well Ray's downcast eyes as he stated simply that he would never operate again. His shoulder had lost too much mobility. Ray had lifted his arm a few inches to demonstrate before a tear fell from his glassy eyes. 

He would never forget telling Jason every single day what had happened as he entered his room. How it had happened. Where it had happened. When it had happened. Every single day. It was over a month before Jason replied with "I know." That day was harder than having to repeat it again. 

He thought back to watching Clay. The man had stood up where Brock fell down. He rotated between the rooms with a grace Brock saw as an irritation. Clay held their hands and helped them up where Brock felt that he was pulling them down. 

When he'd left he'd gone above Blackburn, straight to Lindell. He'd gotten the shrink to sign off on his medical discharge with almost no arguments which he'd honestly felt like he should have argued. But he'd dropped the subject just as he'd dropped the paperwork off with command. 

And now they were standing in a semicircle surrounding him. Waiting for him to say something, anything. But Brock had no words.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy and continue to review as the comments are very motivating. This piece has wiggled it's way into a part of me that hides away. I hope that makes sense. Anyway enjoy.

Time stands still sometimes. When bullets are flying or bombs exploding. It stands still when you sit with a brother as he is told his dreams are over, his operating days behind him. It stands still when you skin a rabbit too. Time stands still sometimes. That's what Brock is sure of as his dart from one brother to the next as time stands still. 

He has no idea how much time has passed or what happened to bring them all together in his room. Swallowing hard and breathing deeply he tries to read their expressions but all he can see is faces from the past. It's unbearable how time stands still when you least want it to, frozen in the worst moments of life. 

"We've missed you, Brother." The feeling of irritation at Clay returns. It had to be Clay who speaks. Who tries welcome him back into the pack. Clay who always seemed to know what to say to them when all Brock wanted to do was scream. So he doesn't respond to the words. Doesn't even acknowledge them. 

His eyes move to Sonny. The Texan looks better than Brock imagined he ever would. The traces of scars at the collar of his shirt are almost faded away. Sonny looks healthy and the small smile on his face makes him seem happy too. 

He looks to Ray next. Ray with his both of his hands resting on his hips. Some mobility had returned to his shoulder. Probably enough to hug Naima, Jameelah, and RJ at least a little bit. Brock think doesn't smile when he thinks about it but a part of him wants to.

Jason is watching him and he wonders how long time has been standing still. He looks directly into Jason's eyes. In those eyes he sees Bravo 1, instead of the confused man he didn't bother to say goodbye to five years ago. Jason's lips turn up slightly and Brock looks away. 

He looks away and to the blanket, the floor, his own hands. He looks at the paint on the wall, the ceiling tiles, the curtains that fail to hold back light. He looks anywhere but at Trent. 

He's aware still that they are waiting for him to speak but he isn't sure there is anything to say. He turned his back on them when they needed him most, probably because he needed them the most as well. They knew that. He knew that. But there really wasn't anything to say about it. The time had passed. It passed while wounds were cleaned and healed. It passed while first steps were taken and memories returned. It passed while life moved on and time stood still.

He had spoken more to Max in the last day than he had spoken to anyone in five years. His words had poured out to the boy like water over a dam but as the adrenaline, fear, and pain had dissipated the dam seemed to suddenly repair itself locking away any hope of openness that had existed. 

"You've seen me. You can go now." He leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes letting the pain medicine wash over him. It took him away from the stillness that encompassed him. 

"He wouldn't look at me." Trent sat heavily back into the uncomfortable waiting room chair. 

"It's the first time he's seen any of us in years. Can't be easy." Sonny dropped next to Trent.

Clay stood in the doorway as anger washed over him. He understood that Brock couldn't entirely help his behavior but that didn't in his mind absolve the man for continuing to cause his brothers pain. Taking a deep breath he tried to center himself, to calm the frayed edges before the completely unraveled. "He doesn't want us here. Hasn't wanted us around in five fucking years. Starting to wonder here why we keep banging our heads on the same damn wall." 

"We don't leave a man behind, Bravo 1." Jason looked up to Clay who's anger faded as he sank into the closest chair. 

"Seems to me he's did the leaving." The sadness in Clay's voice hit like a punch. 

"He didn't chose to leave anymore than any of us Clay. He just got injured in a different way that day." Trent shifted uncomfortably.

Clay nodded sadly. "So what now then?"

"That'd be the million dollar question, Blondezilla." Sonny pulled out his phone and glanced at it. "I'm getting a hotel room. We need a homebase while this plays out."

Brock slept without dreams for what felt the first time in his life. Waking he noticed the nurse smiling at him as she placed a meal tray on the side table. "You slept through lunch. Your dinner is ready for you though." He inclined the bed slightly and felt where the pain medication had worn off. "I can get your friends now that you are awake."

"No." Her smile fell from her face. 

"Okay... is there anything I can do for you?" The smile returned but was tinged with sadness.

"Is Max okay?" He pulled the unidentifiable food closer.

"Yeah. Been asking about you constantly. He's with his Mom and Uncle Steve down the hall." She checked his IV pump.

"She survived." Brock released a breath he hadn't meant to hold knowing Max was safe and still had his Mom. 

" Yeah, actually she should be released in a couple days." 

"Can you send him down?" Brock poked at what he assumed was meatloaf. 

"Of course." Her smile shined.

Max was picking up another piece of pizza that his uncle, really his godfather, had brought in for dinner when the nurse strolled into the room. He knew immediately from the look on her face that Brock was awake and ready for a visitor. Grabbing the pizza box he stood looking to his Uncle Steve who chuckled and nodded his approval at sharing the pizza. The nurse chuckled at the boy and led the way. 

Max walked slowly into the room carrying the box of pizza awkwardly. His head a bit low and his shoulders hunched. The excitement of moments before replaced with nervousness. 

"That pizza for me?" Brock poked at the mysterious food the hospital had provided.

"Yeah." Max sat the box at the foot of the bed and moved the lunch tray from the side table to the sink by the door. Moving the pizza he looked up at Brock for the first time. "Brock, I'm sorry I got you hurt." He held eye contact. 

"Max sit down." Brock raised the bed to sit more upright as Max followed his order. Brock exhaled slowly, he had hoped this conversation could wait, had hoped the boy wouldn't feel responsible, even as he knew the child would. "Max, what happened in those woods wasn't your fault."

Max looked to the floor. "If I hadn't come there... you wouldn't have almost died."

"But you probably would have." Max looked up startled. "Sheriff Collins said when they took him into custody he had two guns on him. Max, he would have shot you and made it look like you hurt your Mom, he thought she was dead too." 

Max nodded in understanding. "Still feel like it's all my fault." He leaned forward and opened the pizza box. "You should eat." 

"You remind me of someone I used to know." Brock laughed.

"Brock... you know they didn't leave." Max shifted as Brock took his turn looking at the floor.

"But I did." A tear slipped from his eye and Max felt like he needed an adult.

Max reached forward and pushed the pizza closer and wordlessly Brock followed the boy's demand to eat. They sat in silence until the four slices Max brought disappeared. Max moved the box away and they settled into their places in the quiet.

Brock drifted to sleep and woke slowly as Max continued to sit beside him. He had no idea what time it was but knew by the darkness that night had settled around them. "You should be with your Mom, buddy." 

Shaking his head Max sat up a bit. "My Uncle Steve is with her. He was in the Unit with my Dad."

"I'd like to meet him tomorrow Max." Brock hit the call button that summoned a nurse. As she entered he turned to her. "My friend seems to be staying in here tonight. Anyway he could be more comfortable?"

"Of course." The same bubbly nurse as before turned to get supplies for Max. She returned moments later with a pillow and blanket piled on a wheeled recliner she was pushing into the room. It took a few minutes of rearranging but finally Max was settled for the night and Brock turned off the light above his bed with the pullstring. 

He listened to the child's breathing even out before raising the bed higher and moving slowly to the edge. Allowing his feet to touch the floor he took a moment to gain both his bearings and his balance. The chain around the boy's neck could only be one thing. Slowly leaning over the child he knew. Knew with everything in him. Linking his finger around the chain he slipped the dogtags from below Max's shirt. The name staring back at him took his breath away. Jack Cooper. 

Brock stumbled back like he had been biten. Bumping his legs into the bed he sunk down. Jack Cooper. His mind traveled back to that night to the after. 

The medivac flew higher into the sky as their QRF secured the perimeter. Clay was beside him. The air was filled with copper, ash, burnt meat, and gunpowder. Full Metal walked from the back. Clay said something Brock couldn't process Metal shook his head slowly.

Clay nodded and spoke into his comms. Brock wondered if his ears had been blow to shit. No he'd heard Trent's screams. Must be shock then. He slowed his breathing a bit. Metal was looking at him like he was waiting for a response. He was holding a Human Remains Pouch. He wondered why they were called that instead of just calling them body bags. Thought maybe someone thought it sounded more respectful somehow. Metal was staring at him. Clay put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down to sit. Clay was asking him something. If he was hurt. He shook his head. Metal was with Cerb. His hearing came back. Metal was lifting the dog. Using a body bag to bring him home. Calling him a good boy. 

He sat with that body bag. Clay and a Marine brought another bag this one now belonging to Thirty Mike. Metal and another Marine lowered another. Metal reached his hand out to Clay who was now commanding the scene. Dropping the chain into Clay's hand he spoke. "His boy will want these."

His boy. Brock watched as Max slept for most of the night. Sitting at the edge of his bed. When the morning nurse came in he didn't respond to her questions. When the doctor made rounds he followed instructions but didn't take his eyes off Max as his wound was examined. 

It wasn't until Steve Morse entered his room to check on Max that Brock spoke. "You must be his uncle." At the nod Brock glanced back to the sleeping child. "Do you know who I am?"

Steve lowered himself inyo the only available chair "Special Warfare Operator First Class Brock Reynolds."

"Yeah. Does Max know?" Brock held the gaze. 

"Not yet." Steve turned toward the child. "He's a good kid. He deserves to know."

Brock nodded as Steve stood. "Can you send him back to his Mom's room when he wakes up?" And Brock nodded again. 

Max cracked his eyes open as the door shut behind his Uncle. "Brock, what do I deserve to know?" Looking down he tucked his father's dogtags back under his shirt.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who has supported this work by leaving comments and kudos. I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

Brock shuffled to the edge of the bed. "Max I need you to know something. It's what your Uncle and I were talking about, but I think either your Mom or him should be here when I tell you." 

Max looked at him with fear of his words in his eyes. "Brock... I'm scared. Can you please just tell me?" The pleading look he gave broke Brock even more. 

"Max... let me get your Uncle to come back." Brock reached for the call button knowing the nurses would get the man. 

"No." When Brock turned back he continued. "My Uncle thinks I'm tough. If it makes me cry... I don't want him to see but you... you've already seen me like that so please just say it."

Nodding Brock slid back in the bed. There was nothing left to do but say it and Brock didn't even know how to do that. But he had to try. "Max I was a SEAL. And a good one. On the best team there was. We went on missions all over the world. We captured and killed terrorists. We followed orders and trained others. And occasionally we went on rescue missions." He paused to look up at Max. "Max the operation that injured my team is still classified and I'm not allowed to tell anyone the details of it. It was a rescue mission, Max and it was just over five years ago."

Max watch as Brock spoke in monotone. He watched him while being watched. He watched him hoping he had been wrong but receiving confirmation instead.

Slowly Max stood and Brock was sure the boy was about to run from the room. Instead he turned toward the window. "Brock when you told me back at the cabin I wondered but I didn't want you to have to know. You said two people and your dog died. I knew when it happened that a dog had died too. It made it worse somehow. We had a mutt named Buddy and he slept with me every night." Max turned back with tears on his face. "Brock it's not your fault my Dad died. I know you think it is but it isn't." 

Brock laughed which startled Max slightly. "But it's somehow your fault that I got shot?" 

"That's different." He said it as he moved forward and sat beside Brock on the hospital bed.

"Oh yeah of course it is." Brock smiled as he leaned back in the bed. 

Max shifted slightly and laid beside him in the bed. "Is this okay?"

"Sure buddy." Brock whispered as he drifted back to sleep. Max laid next to him curled against his side. 

Max wondered if his Dad and Brock would have become friends if that day had turned out differently. He thouggt they would have, his Dad seemed to have become friends with everyone he met. Would he have called Brock his uncle like he did Steve? He thought about that for a few minutes before wondering who Brock was before that day. He wondered if Brock had talked more, had he smiled in a way that reached his eyes, did he play jokes on the men down the hall? He decided that Brock must have because they stayed. His mind raced as he wondered if he would ever have friends that would show up for him even after five years, even after being told to go away. He felt himself slipping back to sleep and allowed it. 

Brock woke first. The pain in his shoulder was worse than the last time he woke but also a healing pain. He shifted slightly not to wake Max and moved to the chair where the boy had slept. He watched as the kid slept. It had been an incredibly long few days so it was not surprising that the boy was exhausted. 

Brock had no idea how much time had passed when Max started to stir. The whimper that came from the child was not surprising but it did startle Brock. "Hey. Max. Hey, wake up." Brock was attempting to stand when his calls to the child were heard and he cracked his eyes to look to the voice. "Max can you get your Uncle for me? I need a favor." 

Max was instantly out if the bed and nodding to Brock. The boy half jogged to his Mom's room to retrieve his Uncle Steve. It was less than five minutes before the two returned. 

"Max I was sort of wondering if I could talk to him alone?" Brock hoped he would understand and the nod indicated he did. Brock waited until the door closed behind Max before continuing. "He knows. I didn't want to tell him but he overheard us." Brock exhaled. "I have a dog. I was wondering if you could take Max to check on him. He knows Max."

"I think it would be good to get him out of here for a bit but do you think that's the place to take him?" Steve leaned on the bedrail.

"Might be different with you and in the daylight." Brock knew this could backfire but he also knew leaving it could as well. "When you're handed a shit sandwich sometimes it becomes bigger in your mind. Maybe going back would be good for him." 

"So maybe you should book a flight to Caracus?" Steve swallowed hard. "Shit. That was out of line."

"Steve I've spent the last five years running from one bad night. I don't want that for Max and I don't think you do either." He shifted forward and slowly stood.

"I don't." Steve glanced to the closed door. "Your team has taken shifts in that shitty waiting room. They are all back there now."

Brock waited until the evening to ask the nurse he liked when he would be allowed to leave. Her answer of a couple days wasn't satisfying but it was honest. He thought through all the repairs required at his cabin mentally cataloging the damage he could remember. And then calculated how long the repairs would take with one arm. That in addition to still needing firewood would most likely put him back months. In his mind he knew he'd still be playing catch-up next summer but there wasn't much he could do about that now. 

He used the damage at the cabin as an excuse to avoid the men down the hall. The nurse gave him paper when requested and he busied himself with lists and tasks that needed to be completed before the snow blanketed the mountain making it nearly impassable. When the lists were done he glanced to the clock and noted that it was almost midnight.

Brock stepped from his room and looked aroumd the brifgt hallway. The nurse's desk was empty so he shuffled passed it hoping the night nurse wouldn't mind his wandering. At the end of the hallway was the dimmed waiting room he was drawn toward.

Standing in the doorway he watched them sleep. Clay and Sonny piled together on the hard tile floor using each other as bedding. Head to leg and legs used as pillows. They be sore. Jason was slumped in an uncomfortable plastic chair listing to the side. Ray was beside him hardly remaining in the chair he'd chosen for the night. His legs straight out and his torso slouching down. Trent was using two chairs on the far side of the room. His stump resting on the second with his leg removed and sitting straight up next to him. They had all taken refuge here. 

Entering the small room he stepped over Clay and Sonny. Passing Ray he wondered how he would ever stand in the morning. He stilled as Jason shifted. Watching he saw the man settle. Finally he stood staring at Trent. 

Trent looked calm. His hair a bit longer than it used to be. Long enough to tuck behind his ears now, but not in an obnoxious way. He didn't look much older either, probably because he could actually sleep on occasion now. Brock watched him for a few minutes before taking the seat beside him. 

Sitting next to Trent felt right in all of the wrong that had happened. The sound of Trent's even breathing as he slept brought a calm Brock hadn't felt in years. The small mumble from Jason as he slept reminiscent of so many nights in hammocks. Clay shifting and Sonny accommodating him while whispering "you're good little brother" made him wonder if Sonny was awake or just so used to Clay that even in his sleep the man knew his brother needed his voice like Brock knew he needed the gentle sound of Trent's even breathing.

Needed. He had told himself not to think about them. Not to allow them into his mind for this very reason. But now sitting beside his best friend in a room filled with his brothers he wondered how he could have been so mistaken. 

Brock sat staring ahead until he noticed Trent's breathing change. Turning slightly his sad eyes met Trent's. "Brock?" Trent's voice was thick as he sat up. 

"Trent." Brock held his gaze knowing in his half asleep state Trent was questioning whether he was really there. "I'm sorry."

Trent broke the eye contact looking to the floor and then his sleeping brothers. "So am I, Broccoli." The familiar nickname rolled off his tongue unintentionally. 

"Can we just sit, Trent?"

"For as long as you want." Trent fought hard to keep his voice emotionless. Fear of pushing Brock from the room and further away motivating his calm. 

Brock nodded. Without meaning to be or maybe he had meant to be either way he had been caught. Caught relishing in the brotherhood he had fought so hard for so long to escape. He wondered aimlessly if that had been his whole point in sitting by Four. Knowing that of all of them that was the brother who would sense his nearness but he let the thought drop away in the stillness and just sat. 

The nurse looked into the room some time later and Brock wondered if time would ever actually make sense to him again. Five minutes and five hours seemed the same now. He wondered if that was the trauma or the isolation. Ultimately decided it didn't really matter. 

"He's Jack Cooper's son." Brock knew without looking that Trent was still awake as he spoke. 

"I know." Trent turned his head offering eye contact if it was wanted. Brock stared at the wall opposite them. 

"He knows too. Knows that it was Bravo. Knows we were there when..." his words fell away. "I expected him to be angry. He wasn't."

"Yeah. He's a pretty remarkable kid." Trent wasn't sure what else to say.

"He is." Brock continued to stare. 

More time passed although again he didn't know how much. Sitting beside Trent he didn't think, he just sat. The calmness in the room was both overwhelming and immensely comfortable. So he just sat for longer. 

The light in the room had started to change as dawn showed. Outside the waiting room the nurses moved about their morning routines. Soon his brothers would all wake. And finally he turned to Trent's eyes.

"I'm not okay." Brock spoke the simple sentence while Trent sat still as if movement would break a spell. 

"Yeah." Trent spoke softly when Brock's glassy eyes held his but silence lingered.

"Trent, what I left behind hasn't left me." The tears slipped down Brock's face with no attempt made to stop them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had originally planned for the conversations with Max and then with Trent to be in separate chapters but this felt more organic. Please let me know your thoughts on this chapter. Have a great day.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have not forgotten this piece... in fact this is the third incarnation of chapter 8. The first was lost. The second was crap and then lost as it was being reworked. This chapter I'm uncertain of to be honest but if I don't post it as is I never will. I hope you find enjoyment or at least distraction in this work.

And they sat in the silence letting the weight of his words settle like the last five years of solitude. Trent spoke slowly and with purpose as the rest of the men started moving, some slightly closer, some just more upright. "What happened that night wasn't your fault. Wasn't Cerb's fault. It was a shit thing that happened after a shit series of things. It wasn't your fault."

Brock felt the air leaving his lungs as if he had been holding his breath for years and maybe he had been. Nodding he stood and took two steps toward the door before turning back to look at them wishing once more that he had words. Words to undo what had happened, words that could change what was, words of solace if not for them than for himself. 

But he didn't have words so he turned again and walked from the room. It's one thing to know you have made the biggest mistake of your life, it's another to know how to undo the mistake or move forward from it. The nurse smiled kindly as he passed her in the hallway. The lights were bright. The sun too. He felt numb and wanted to retreat to his cabin of solitude in deep woods away from the world that felt to him more broken than even he himself, but somehow retreat seemed impossible now. 

He slowed his breathing. Felt the tingle in his fingertips caused from hyperventilating. Slowed himself more. Wished Anubis was here. Wished Cerberus still was. The thought made him move to the sink. The bile rising in his throat was as unstoppable as the images that ran through his head like wildfire. Burning and fierce. The deafening screams, scarred flesh, and the bodies piled next to where he sat overwhelmed in a way he doubted people come back from. 

The nurse stepped into and out of the room. The doctor now stood in her place. He was an older man with kind eyes that spoke of a past. 

With his stomach now empty Brock stood and turned toward the man while wiping his mouth with a rough paper towel. "How often do you have panic attacks?" The doctor didn't hesitate to address the truth of his situation. 

Brock took a few shaking steps before lowering himself to the bed. "This is the first in years."

"Because you were better or because you mastered avoidance?"

"I've lived alone in a cabin in the woods for five years. The local kids... they call me the mountain man and they're sure I'm a cannibal. So I guess that qualifies as avoidance."

"I'd say that is expert level avoidance Mr. Reynolds." The doctor chuckled. "Brock, can I call you Brock?" The nod granted permission. "Brock the question now is do you go back to the cabin or do you get the help you so clearly need? And only you can answer that question."

"I thought it would be easier on them if I just left. They were the ones struggling to heal and move forward." Brock lowered his head. 

"Brock you came in with a GSW and in shock. But in my opinion your most serious issue wasn't either of those. Have you ever heard of survivor's guilt?" The doctor took a step closer.

"You know Doc, for the first bit all I wanted was to go back. To go home. But home wasn't a place that existed anymore." Brock's voice cracked almost inaudibly.

"Was that before or after you left for the woods?" The doctor sat in the furthest chair. 

"Both I guess. Everyday just seemed harder than the day before. There's a saying 'the only easy day was yesterday' but, Doc, every yesterday was harder than the one before. At some point something had to give." Brock exhaled slowly. "I ran away. People run places all the time. Sometimes to something, sometimes away from something. But I just ran... I'm not even sure if that makes sense."

"It does. Have you tried to tell them that?"

"I'm not sure how. I think of all these things to say and then I look at them." Lowering his head as tears fell he struggled to continue. "And there are no words for what I did."

The doctor leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "Brock when you say 'what I did' do you mean leaving them or not being injured when they were?"

Clay wandered the hallways aimlessly. The waiting room had begun to feel claustrophobic and smothering. He had chatted with Davis and informed Blackburn about the situation although his current leave hadn't required it. The support the two offered eased his mind but somehow he still felt stuck between two worlds. Back in the roll Bravo 6 while holding the current title of Bravo 1. 

He thought of his current team and the work that was needed and the constant comparison he faced daily. The great Jason Hayes whose shoes seemed impossible to fill some days. Sometimes he still turned as if Ray would be there with advice or Sonny a joke. The first injury with his new team he caught Trent's name in his throat before it could escape. And Brock. He still waited for Brock to tag his back as the last man. He had run as Bravo 1 with the new Bravo for almost five years now but the ghosts of his still living brothers somehow still faught beside him. 

The broken sob from behind a slightly closed door interupted his thoughts. The noise took him to a burned out building and pushing Brock to a sitting position. The door should have been shut and he contemplated doing so but he was drawn forward instead. It opened with silence. 

The doctor glanced to him and nodded for his entry. Slowly the man rose from the chair and Brock's form became visible. He was hunched over and shaking. Clay took a tentative step forward. 

Reaching to Brock he grasped at the trembling man's shoulder. Brock froze before lifting his head to meet Clay's eyes. "Clay, please get me out of here." His plea was strong but desperate. 

"Doc, I'm gonna you to get the discharge ready and update Trent Sawyer on his medical. We are leaving." Clay stood from the chair with finality. "Also I assume he has no wearable clothing so if we could get him some scrubs that would be great."

Clay stepped from the room while Brock fumbled to change from the gown into the scrubs that were provided. Jason paced towards him looking somber and somewhat annoyed. "The doctor came to brief Trent. Said you're taking him home? What's going on?" 

"He asked to leave. He asked for something I can do, so I'm doing it." Clay's voice was clear as he stood with his shoulders squared.

"We are doing it." Jason's nodded. "Back to his cabin?"

"Figure that's where he'll be most comfortable." The door behind him opened and Brock leaned on the frame. His hands trembled and sweat was glistening on his forehead. "Ready?" Clay spoke softly. 

Brock nodded as he carefully stepped forward. "Hey Jase."

"Hey Brock. We'll meet up with you guys at your cabin just gonna grab some supplies." Jason hoped his smile would be reassuring but doubted it was. 

The trip back to his cabin was silent and for that he was grateful. The old logging road still passable as late autumn prepared to turn into the long cold nights of winter but the days were still warm enough to finish getting ready. His shoulder ached with every rut in the road as Clay slowly drove trying to avoud the worst ones. 

Brock was slightly surprised to see other vehicles parked along the road's end. Clay said nothing as they exited the vehicle and made their way to the wood's edge. The last part of the trip requiring them to hike. 

The activity at the cabin more than surprised him as they approached and Anubis bounded to his master. "Hey boy, what's going on here? You make some friends?" The dog responded with a full body wiggle as Brock watched seven men work on repairing the damage done to his cabin. "Clay?"

Before Clay could answer Max rounded the corner of the cabin with his Uncle Steve. "Brock you're home early! We wanted to fix things before you got here." 

"Hey Max. I appreciate the help buddy." Brock had forgotten what it was like to depend on anyone and it was a relief to see that the long list in his mind was much smaller now.

Brock sat on a tree stump as Clay moved closer to the cabin. The men looked happy to see him. They called him 'Boss.' Bravo team was fixing his cabin with a couple deputies from the sheriffs department and a spare Delta guy along with his godson Max. 

He watched as they glanced to him and tried not to be caught watching him. Anubis laid at his feet full of unused energy and it was his whining that drew another dog into view. A beautiful Belgium rounded his cabin and bounded to them. The dog looked so much like Cerberus that for an instant he was transported back in time. 

Sliding from stump he let himself be swallowed by the ground below him. Anubis jumped to meet the dog and their instant friendship broke him. The sob drew the attention of not only Clay but all the men who had been watching him while not watching.

"Hector, get her!" Clay strode three steps toward the dogs and his brother. 

"Dita." Her name from her master's mouth had her immediate attention as she sulked to him. Brock's eyed the man as he moved away with his dog.

"She's beautiful." Brock exhaled and reached for Anubis. "Let them play. He doesn't get to have friends over often."

"Brock I should have told you they were here, I'm sorry." Clay squatted in front of him. 

"I'm good. Just surprised is all." Brock lolled slightly to the side as Clay sat beside him. They sat quietly for a few minutes watching Max throw a ball for the dogs to chase before Brock spoke again. "How'd you do it Clay? How did you end up okay after everything? Are you just stronger?"

Clay exhaled audibly before laying back into the grass with his eyes watching the clouds pass above. "I don't know if I was strong or just numb." He wished he had an answer that would somehow absolve Brock but numbness had been his truth for a long time. 

Brock laid beside him gently with care to his shoulder. "I wish I was numb." He closed his eyes and practiced sniper breathing. "I wish a lot of things."

The distant sound of the original team trekking through the woods could be heard. Sonny's grumbling and Ray's laughter. Jason checking on Trent who insisted he was just fine and the little hike was nothing. The sounds of home wafted through the woods to him as exhaustion overtook him and overrode the sound of men he didn't know fixing a home that felt more empty than ever before. The sounds of brotherhood enveloped his as he drifted to sleep next to Clay.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the huge delay in this story. I have found writing to be exceptionally difficult lately but hopefully just posting what I have will motivate me to continue. Let me know what you think.

The pain in his shoulder surged as he slowly woke. In all his years on the teams it would figure he'd take a bullet in exile. Voices drifted in and out and the warmth beside him belonged to a brother he had desperately tried to forsake. Awareness just on the brink as the laughter started. 

He eyes cracked open as Trent laughed loudly and asked "What in the hell is glamping?" 

The echo of laugher that he knew and didn't spread. The Texas drawl that responded seemed thicker than it once had been. "I'm done roughin' it. Comfort is what I'm here for nowadays."

The shaking next to him as Clay laughed jostled his shoulder enough to bring him fully to consciousness. "Come on Son, you really needed an inflatable tent and pillow top mattress?"

"Pillowtop sounds nice." His head lulled to the side as he spoke. 

"I'm sure it does Broccoli. How are you feeling?" Trent moved closer and crouched beside him. Brock watched his movements amazed at the mobility of his prosthetic.

"I'd like to say I'm fine but honestly I think I'm gonna need some help sitting up." Lifting his head even slightly was challenging enough.

"I've got you." Clay sat up beside him. 

"What is glamping?" Brock asked as he was helped into a sitting position. "What time is it?"

"Time for you to eat and take some meds." Trent turned to where Sonny was setting up a tent and chuckled. "And glamping is apparently camping in style according to Sonny."

A smile graced him lips as the banter between the men continued. Max was stacking firewood in the distance where days ago he had been hidden. Men he didn't know carried away broken bits of his cabin and replaced windows. All around him tasks were being handled as he sat in the dirt beside Clay. 

Jason wandered the property and instructed the activity while Ray talked to the younger men. Their laughter all around him. Stories of Bravo drifted to him as Clay huffed and mumbled about Ray giving away his secrets. Ray laughed harder. 

"I'm gonna send my guys to the hotel to rack out." Clay spoke to Jason as he walked to the group of five young men finishing repairs. 

Brock watched the interaction. Turning to Trent he spoke "The Kid is Bravo 1." It was a statement instead of a question as he watched his friend lead with just a head movement and the tone of his voice. 

"The Kid isn't really a kid anymore. You think that makes us old now?" Trent glanced at him. 

"Actually, I think Sonny glamping makes us old."

Trent smirked. "Speaking of Sonny, he's got his grill going."

The chatter among the team that no longer held any official affiliation took him back in time as he silently ate. It took him to an outside table in Manila joking of the change in Sonny. It took him to the barracks in Jalalabad. It took him to training Green Team. To team barbeques and running hills after a stupid fight. To a drunken golf adventure and more nights in the bar than he could begin to count. To more trips in a C-17 than he could even remember. The chatter felt like novocaine. Dulling a pain he had tried to ignore but had allowed to consume him instead. 

He caught glimpses of the conversation, of Clay asking Jason for advice, of Ray laughing with Sonny about bison of all things, of Trent throwing his wisdom at them all. He heard them but wasn't listening to details. Solitude is a funny thing, whether by choice or happenstance, once it settles sometimes it stays. And after enough time in exile the stillness of that solitude can encompass you in an impenetrable way. So surrounded by the only family that ever felt like home Brock still felt very alone. 

The crackling fire warmed the night and focused his thoughts as Max approached with his Uncle standing closely while still allowing privacy. "Brock, I'm going now." The boy waited for him to look up. "We're gonna stay with my Uncle Steve for a while. I probably won't see you again... at least for a while." The crack in his voice echoed the crackling fire. 

"I'll see you again kiddo." Brock leaned forward in the camp chair and slowly stood. "Come here." Max tentatively moved into the one armed embrace avoiding Brock's injured shoulder. "Max, your Dad... He'd be proud of you."

The slight shake of Max's shoulders was the only indication of the emotion within the moment and the embrace. "I think maybe he sent me running this way... Brock, maybe you couldn't save him so you'd be here to save me." 

"Maybe he did." Brock liked the thought even if he doubted the situation would have existed had the mission been a success but allowing the child to believe it did no harm. "Max, maybe you saved me a bit too." The whispered admission caught in his throat. "You're going to be okay."

Pulling away Max quickly wiped his eyes. "You too, Brock. You too."

Brock watched as the boy and his Uncle hiked into the woods toward the access road. It had been less than a week since he had found the boy and somehow his entire existence had unwillingly crumbled around him. A part of him was relieved the boy was going and inexplicably a part of him wanted to chase after, to keep him close where he could be assured the child was safe. 

"He'll be okay." Trent moved his chair closer. 

"Yeah." Brock did his best not to turn away. 

"You know you can talk to any one of us." Trent exhaled slowly. "I know you didn't want to before but it's different now."

"How's it different?" Brock shifted slightly as the pain medication started to take effect.

"Well... It's different because we dealt with it. We healed and forged new paths. We have talked about it, with ourselves, each other, therapists. Hell Ray gives motivational speeches for a living now and makes good money doing it. Paid off his mortgage last year. The point is we're okay now and it's okay that you aren't. We can help with that."

"It was easy to talk to Max." Brock deflated slightly. "And it was nice to feel needed again."

"Fuck Brock, you don't think we needed you? Still need you?" Trent stood raising his voice. "I'm not sure what to say that I haven't already said here, brother. And I'm trying, really trying, not to lose it on you."

Brock stood facing Trent further drawing the attention of the four other men still present. "You know what I miss the most? From before, I miss laying in bed and cars driving by outside. I miss the way the shadows flickered across the wall from the headlights. I miss that." Brock lowered his head. "And so much more."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter than I would like but tomorrow is the first day of virtual school for my first and second grader so I most likely won't get to post again until this weekend :(
> 
> I hope you all enjoy and I promise we are moving toward resolution and finding out more about each of their lives now. 
> 
> As always reviews help motivate me and let me know if the story is well received or just an irritation taking up space among other desired works. 
> 
> Stay safe and enjoy.

Trent slowly limped out of the cabin. His leg hurt more now than it had in years and while he told himself it was psychological it still ached. It would for days. 

Clay sat motionless in a one of the two chairs on the small porch. "You should sit Trent." It felt like an order so he obliged. "He asleep?" 

"Yeah, I sedated him. Your medic brought his kit along and let me borrow it.... said Davis would restock it without question as if I didn't know her."

"Ben's a good guy, they all are but sometimes I think they either forget or try not to remember how I became their leader." Clay's head remained down. 

"That because you do?" Trent nudged his shoulder gently. 

"Probably. What are we gonna do?" Clay finally met his eyes. 

"Sonny offered to take him to Texas. Said the ranch is quiet and Hannah has a spare room set up." 

"It's still strange that he runs the ranch now, and a bison ranch at that. Who'd have thought longhorns wouldn't roam the Quinn estate?" They both laughed. "Ray said he'd take him home too. Naima works less shifts now and the kids are older." Clay stretched. "What about you?"

"Probably could take him, Metal is running my current survival course and I don't have any trips lined up right now." Trent looked toward the dwindling fire and the tents Sonny had set up earlier. "I can't fix this. When that bomb exploded and I was bleeding out, it was Brock who saved me but there is no tourniquet here."

"This isn't your fault Trent and no one expects you to fix this. You know that right?" Clay held eye contact. 

"I do. But I also feel like he ruined himself to save me and that load isn't easy." Trent removed his prosthetic and rubbed the stump. "Honestly Clay, I don't know what to think or feel and when I try not to do either I'm just mad." Trent shook his head at the thought. "Mad at what happened, and at myself for not knowing what to do then and now. But worst of all I'm mad at him." 

The last of the crickets called out in the darkening night. The wind caused the leaves to dance steadily to the ground. The Autumn chill in the air settled between them. 

"You think he'll sleep through the night?" Clay shifted in discomfort. 

"Probably not. You bring any hammocks?" Trent adjusted and started putting his prosthetic limb back on. 

"Yeah I did. We could string them up inside maybe, keep the fire going." Clay stood and reached for his pack. 

Brock woke with the groggy sense that he was drugged before shifting to see two hammocks strung between the beams of his cabin and recalled Trent medicating him. Without moving he had no doubt it was Clay and Trent sleeping within the four walls with him. The fire still roared despite the early light of dawn breaking on the mountain letting him know his brothers had either been awake late or had made the effort to keep it going. 

The creak of the bed as he moved caused the man in the closest hammock to stir. "All good Brother." He whispered and immediately Clay settled back into slumber. 

He grabbed a jacket and quickly slipped from the cabin. Swinging it over his bad shoulder as he stepped from the porch. The crisp air felt like a relief from a long summer that felt hotter than he remembered past summers. 

Walking the perimeter of his cabin he thought about the land he had started with and the work that made it his home. Home was a word he never truly thought fit this place but what else could he call it. It was not a sanctuary, oasis, refuge, or respite. It was just a place he landed, hid, and survived. There was little doubt in his mind that he would be staying. Even if he wanted to it was no longer an option. His brothers would not allow it and if he was honest with himself the bullet hole in his shoulder and upcoming winter did not guarantee survival.

Rounding the last corner of the cabin toward the tents he watched as Sonny exited the tent. "How's the shoulder?" Sonny poked at the still hot coals of last nights fire before adding wood. 

"Still there, still hurts." He sat near the fire. "Feels good, warm. I can go grab some coffee if you want."

"I already made some with the coals. You want?" Sonny held a yeti thermos out.

"Sure." Sipping the hot coffee he stared at nothing."So what is your life like now? You doing okay?"

"My life is... more than I ever could have hoped. I'm back home now in Texas. Running the ranch but we graze bison now. More profit. I fell in love. Her name is Hannah and we grew up together. She is my home." The smile that filtered across his face reached his eyes in a way Brock didn't think he had seen from Sonny before. "You should come visit sometime... maybe around April." The smile bloomed. 

"Why April?" Brock sipped more coffee. 

"That's when the wedding is.'" Sonny laughed. "You're the first I've told. Clay'll be pissed."

"That's amazing Sonny. Congrats." Brock smiled and allowed joy for his friend wash over him. Joy was a lost feeling. The most he had hoped for was contentment. Joy had seemed beyond his reach, but now with Sonny he felt it again. "I'll know a part of me will miss it here. Things are simple here. Like the wind. You can hear it coming before the trees move, before you can feel it on your skin, you hear it moving over the mountain. I'll miss that." Brock watched the trees sway as the morning rose.

"So.. Ya ain't stayin' here then?" Sonny watched the wind in the trees, it was beautiful here.

"I have a choice?" Brock turned to him. "I mean honestly, even if I could do it with this injury, would you guys really just leave me now that you know where I am?" It wasn't accusatory. 

"We always have. Well that's not really true. We send the Sheriff out to check on ya." Sonny's face held a half grin. 

Brock laughed before he could find words. "That's how he knew to contact you guys?" 

"No that was Max. Damn kid told the Sheriff he'd only come out for Trent Sawyer and then the little shit made Trent prove who he was with a quiz on shit you told 'em about us." Sonny laughed. 

"He's a smart kid. Good instincts." Brock sipped his cooling coffee. 

"He is. Anyway where do you wanna go? Hannah says she has the spare room all set and Naima is ready too. You could always bunk with Jace too. Clay isn't home much but I reckon he'd like having you with Stella now especially that she's pregnant." Sonny rambled off the options and let his brother know how wanted he was at the same time. 

"You didn't say Trent's place?" Brock eyed him. 

"Cause I figured you pick him either way."

"You guys all really moved on huh?" Brock lowered his head.

"We moved forward. Not sure about on... part of me will always be stuck there, trick is not to let it be all of me." Sonny placed a hand in his shoulder. "I had a great therapist that kept me from drinkin' my life away. I can give ya his number." 

"Yeah maybe."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter is enjoyed. I am planning to finish this piece and the probably take a break from writing, maybe a oneshot here or there but probably no longer works. I feel that maybe my writing is a bit dark or too emotionally draining to read and therefore not entirely well recieved. I'm not sure how to fix that. Honestly I thought of just stopping but there still seem to be a few enjoying this story so my goal is to finish it.

Trent exhaled deeply as he pulled his comforter higher. His bed engulfed him for the first time in four nights. The first time he had been in his bed since Sheriff Collins had called him. He sank lower into the warm of the mattress breathing slowly. 

He tried not to think of Brock in his guest room. Tried not to wonder when his brother would run away again. Wished he was not contemplating what Brock disappearing forever would feel like. 

His bed was all he had wanted for days and as he tossed and turned frustration overtook him. His body ached and his no longer attached limb throbbed. He shifted. He twisted. He stretched. Finally he sat and moved to the bed's edge. There was no point in this attempt at rest his mind was racing. 

Trent stumbled from his bedroom on shaking legs, one his own. He was exhausted but sleep would not be coming tonight. He thought of all the nights he had wished Brock was near and ironically now he wished the man had picked any other brother's spare room. Guilt washed over him as he hobbled into his kitchen and started the coffee maker. 

"Making enough for two?" Brock pulled out a stool and sat at the high countertop. 

"I can. Or you can go back to bed." Trent kept his back to Brock. 

"Sure. I'll umm I'll do that." The sound of the stool being pushed back in was louder than he expected. "I'll call Jase or Ray tomorrow too. Stay somewhere else."

"Brock wait." Trent turned as Brock stopped in the hallway. "I'll make enough for two. I'm sorry."

"Listen Trent you don't need to apologize to me. I landed on your doorstep five years after..." The after didn't need explanation. 

"I don't have to be a dick either though." Trent smiled softly. 

"I'd understand if you were." 

"I know." 

Coffee was poured in near silence. Sugar offered. Vanilla cream. Almond milk which Trent referred to as almond juice due to a lack of nipples. Sonny's influence obvious. 

"You ever think about that night?" Brock stared into his mug while asking. 

"Sometimes. You?" Trent watched him.

"After the medivac I felt like I couldn't hear." His voice was low. 

"I didn't realize I was the one screaming... until after the morphine."

"Metal bagged Cerb." Brock's voice cracked.

"He told me." Trent reached a hand to Brock's uninjured shoulder. 

"I missed the signs." Brock lowered his head. 

"You need help Brock." Trent kept his voice as even as he could. 

"I thought you were going to die. Knew the leg was done. I don't think I've ever been that scared." 

Trent limped to get more coffee. Added more almond milk. Sipped it slowly. "I wish it hadn't been you to get to me first." Taking another sip he closed his eyes. "I feel like it's why you aren't okay. Did saving me break you?"

"Maybe. I don't know. But if I had it to do again it would always be me getting there first... even if it did break me." Brock looked him in the eyes. "And yeah you screamed. I think it's what woke me after the blast actually."

"Probably is. Metal said he heard it from the back of the building. He heard you too. Do you remember what you said?" Trent turned more to him.

"I didn't... no I guess I don't." 

"Well, you were screaming. Metal thought you were wounded too at first. 'Please help me, I can't do this without you.' You repeated it a few times. The first time he told me what you said was right after you left." Trent lifted his coffee with a shaking hand. 

"You two are closer." Jealousy he had no right to surged.

"Yeah I guess. He moved in after I got released from outpatient rehab. After I learned to walk again but mostly stumbled. We ended up going into business together when he got out." Trent glanced at the clock on the microwave. 

"I'm sorry. I should have been here." Exhaustion washed over him blanketing the guilt. "What business do you guys do?"

Trent laughed and shook his head. "Well we run an outdoor adventure company. Usually take a bunch of yuppies deep into the woods and try not to let them get themselves killed, but sometimes it's boy scouts or alternative school kids that's code for delinquents, basically anyone who pays. Sometimes it a couple days, sometimes longer. Scott has a group of wannabe outdoorsman out there for two weeks now. It's good money."

"There's something about the woods huh?"

"Yeah there is. And people tend to stop bitching once they realize their guide hiked the same five miles with one leg." Trent smiled and Brock laughed. 

"So that's what you do now." Brock still smiled.

"Part of it yeah. I work with a few international organizations providing medical supplies, personel, and training where it's needed. Mostly the logistical side of things coordination and cutting through bureaucratic red tape but every so often I travel to ensure the logistics stateside make sense on location." Trent yawned.

Brock nodded. Took in what he thought he knew and the man standing before him that he now only partially recognized. "Wow. You've been busy. I've missed a lot." 

"I've missed you." Trent let the words slip quietly in the dimly lit kitchen. 

"You should be pissed I left to begin with." He adjusted the sling slightly.

"Oh I am... but not enough to address it." Trent stood and approached. "Here, let me." He effortlessly fixed the twisted strap of the sling. "Better?"

"Yeah thanks." Brock leaned back slightly. "Should probably get some sleep."

"Probably. I think the guys are coming in the morning."

"Figured they would." Brock stood in anticipation of going back to bed. "I didn't mean to run away and hide."

"I know." Trent dumped the remaining coffee from his cup into the sink. "Still hurt though when you did."

"I thought if I stayed I'd somehow make it worse. I don't really know how to explain it. I feel like there are some parts of what happened..." Brock Inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. "That I will never unsee or be able to talk about. And those are the parts I ran from."

Trent crossed the room. "Brock, open your eyes." He waited until the glassy pain filled eyes met his. "I'm going to hug you now."

There was a tremble that seemed ever present in Brock as Trent wrapped is brother in his arms. Gently and silently he held him. Trent stood still and with each second that ticked by he wondered how long Brock's composure would last, how high his walls were built. 

Eventually as he exhaled Brock began to sob and shake. Thoughts of Venezuela flashed in his mind as he lowered himself to the floor with Trent still holding him tightly. Visions of Max begging him to stay awake mixed into his pleas to Trent to help him. He gasped and bawled and sank lower than he ever imagined possible. His eyes burned with tears and his throat tightened as the smell of gunpowder filled his mind. Trent held tightly and rocked slightly.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kindness shown in the reviews.

Jason used his key to let himself into the darkened house before eight the next morning. He juggled two bags from the bakery as he closed the door behind himself. Walking through the living room he breathed a sigh of relief at the silence that greeted him. Both his brothers needed sleep. 

It took him a second glance to confirm what his eyes were seeing. With his back against a wall Trent sat legs splayed holding Brock. Their eyes met. Jason shook his head and Trent looked down at Brock who slept still wrapped in Trent's arms with a fist full of t-shirt gripped tightly. 

"Long night?" Jason moved to make coffee. 

Trent tipped his head back resting it against the wall. "Might have pushed a little hard."

"Has he opened up then?" Jason turned back to see Trent nod. "Clay is bringing Anubis later, has he asked about his dog?"

Trent shook his head. "It worries me that he hasn't."

"Yeah. Should we get him up? Move him to the spare room?" Jason finished unpacking the bakery items.

"Probably." Trent attempted to shift and smiled lightly. "Sort of feels like I have no legs."

Jason crouched down in front of them and gently reached out to Brock. "Hey Brock, time to move to the bedroom." The tone in his voice spoke of a father moving his child from the couch to bed after failing to watch the end of a movie. "Come on Brother."

Brock shift slightly and cracked his eyes open. "Jase?"

"Yeah Bud, come on I'll help you up." Without hesitation Brock reached his good hand to Jason, glancing back to Trent.

"All good Broccoli. Go with Jason." Trent slid slightly down the wall.

Jason sat on the edge of the bed after tucking the blanket around Brock. "Go back to sleep."

"Sorry I sort of just showed up and brought Venezuela back with me." Brock's eyes fluttered shut as Jason rested his hand on dark curls. 

"Oh Brock... Venezuela has always been here." It was a whispered admission none of them wanted to accept. "We all broke in some way or another. Just gotta figure out how to put you back together now, Brother."

Brock's eyes remained closed as his breathing evened out. Jason sat watching him sleep. Grateful and heartbroken he sat for a few minutes before wondering if Trent had climbed from the floor yet. 

Stepping from the spare room off the living room Jason heard the sound of keys unlocking the deadbolt on the back door off the kitchen. The sound was followed shortly by boots moving quickly to the hallway. Jason followed the sound. 

"Fuck Trent. You fall or drink too damn much again?" Metal was bent over him positioning himself to lift him below the shoulders. 

"Waiting for Jace to help me up." Trent groaned as he was lifted. "And no I didn't drink too much." 

"Metal, how ya been?" Jason stepped into the hallway. 

"Well I need a damn shower and next time this group books Trent's dealing with them. Almost killed three of them myself. Why'd you leave him laying in the hall?" Turning back to Trent he raised his eyebrows. "What's going on that you couldn't get yourself up?"

"Brock happened." Trent attempted to gain his balance while propping himself with one hand on the wall. 

"Brock... is he... what happened?" Metal shook his head and took a step back. 

"He got himself shot. I need to sit." Trent swayed slightly. Metal's hand was at his elbow instantly as he guided Trent effortlessly, in a well practiced way, to the kitchen table. 

"Gonna need a bit more info guys." Metal turned and grabbed the coffee pot and three mugs. 

Jason spoke first explaining the situation at the cabin and Max's connection to their last OP in Venezuela. Trent filled in some bits from the hospital and the events of the night before that had landed them on the hallway floor. Metal sipped his coffee and listened intently. 

"So he's asleep in my old room?" Metal stood. 

"Yeah but he needs to rest. Scott what are you doing?" Trent attempted to stand on shaking legs. 

"Just wanted to look at him." He turned back. "What did you think? I'm not the one you gotta think is pissed that much."

"What's that mean?" Jason poured more coffee and reached for a donut.

"That means everyone deals with shit their own way, but Clay is still pissed that Brock left."

"And he has every right to still be pissed at me." Brock's hair stood up at odd angles and his sweatpants hung slightly low on his hips as he leaned on the doorframe. "Everyone in his life has left. I never wanted to be one of those people to him... but I am."

Metal took a step closer to him. "It's good to see you Brother." 

"Metal. Hey." Brock took a tentative step and lowered his voice making the moment intimate between the two. "Thank you for taking care of them when I couldn't."

Metal closed the distance and though not typically someone who hugged he reached out to Brock. "Anytime, Brother, anytime." The 'them' mentioned being Cerb and Trent didn't need words as they both fully understood the gratitude.

Brock sat quietly on the couch listening to Metal update Trent on all the reasons to discontinue the contract with the group he had just had in the woods. The reasons varied from talking to much to bringing unauthorized weapons. He ranted for a bit about the level of whining that occurred and the 'experts' he never wanted to deal with again. Trent did his best not to laugh but finally agreed to take them out next time before making the final decision togther. 

Jason coaxed him to eat a donut although he mostly picked at it. The painkillers for his shoulder both stole his appetite and made him slightly nauseous. He woke on the couch a few hours later alone. The note on the coffee table let him know they had moved to the backyard to avoid waking him.

He sat slowly and ran his hand through his hair and down his face. He needed to shave and have a haircut that didn't involve kitchen scissors and a window as a mirror. He wandered to the bathroom, relieved himself and rifled threw the medicine cabinet before dry swallowing two pills. Laughter from the backyard filled the house spurring him to go outside. 

He stood at the window looking out for a minute. Trent and Metal sat by the fire talking. Jason and Sonny tossed a football back and forth. Ray stood by the grill with Clay sitting on a cooler beside him. There was a calm to the scene he had never seen before from his brothers. He watched a bit more as if afraid to break the spell before he finally opened the door. 

Trent looked up as he stepped outside. "How's the shoulder feeling?" 

"Like shit. I took some Advil from your bathroom." Brock took the water handed to him by Ray. 

"You can have something stronger." Trent moved to stand.

"Makes me sick to my stomach, I'd like to eat first." Brock stepped from the deck to join the fire as Trent nodded.

They laughed and tossed a ball. They ate and stoked the fire. They existed outside if and without mention of Venezuela. 

As the evening turned to night and the conversation waned Brock turned to Clay. "So you're Bravo One. Tell me about your team."

"Well you met Hector, he's Bravo 5 now. My dog handler. He's actually going to stop by later with Anubis. He's been letting him and Deetz play for the last few days. If that's okay with you?" Brock nodded solemnly before Clay continued. "Ben's my medic. He's young and a little unsure of himself but his skills are there. Alex is a cocky young sniper who likes to ignore my orders and gives me as many headaches as I gave Jase." The small chuckle sounded almost bitter. "John is my 2IC. You'd like him, he's quiet like you. Notices details the same way too. And then there is Luke. If I can keep that man out of the bars for five minutes he's the best I have. We're a six man team for now."

"I hear you and Stella?" Brock avoided further talk of Bravo. 

"Yeah." The first real and true smile Brock had seen in years spread across Clay's face. "We just bought a house. Baby's due in three months."

"Do you know what it is?" Brock watched the joy spread further.

"A boy." Clay beamed as his phone dinged and he reached into his pocket to retrieve it. "Hector. He'll be here soon."

Brock paled slightly. "I might head inside... shoulder is acting up. Can someone just bring Bis inside when they get here?"

"Sure thing Brother." Sonny stood and reached a hand to Brock to help him stand. He watched him go until the door latched behind him and he turned back to his brothers. "Alright what the fuck was that?"

"No idea." Ray looked from one to the other searching for a reason none of them had.

Hector rounded the corner of the house with both dogs in tow. "Hey Boss. I have a good boy here who's excited to see his Dad." Hector smiled broadly before sensing the atmosphere. "Everything okay? I mean uh as okay as uh it can be?" The 26 year old stumbled over his words as intimidation at his company overtook him. 

"Not entirely sure. Told Brock you were coming and he went inside. Said to bring Anubis to him." Clay said as Hector nodded. 

"His dog is amazing. I was working Dita and Anubis started following my commands in German... He's fast as hell for his size and well he out did her on a few things." Hector slowed himself as the excitement got to him. "Can I maybe try talking to him before we take Anubis inside?"

Everyone turned to Trent as the former medic contemplated the situation. "Might as well try. You dog people might relate?"

Metal lead Hector into the house and pointed out the door to the spare bedroom before retreating back to fire outside. Hector took a deep breath before knocking gently on the door. He waited and finally a response he couldn't identify sounded from the other side. 

Cracking the door slowly he spoke. "I'm sorry I couldn't hear what you said. Can I talk to you for a minute?" Brock nodded as Hector stepped into the room. "Anubis is an amazing dog. I'd keep him if you'd let me. I was hoping maybe we could talk dogs sometime. All the Green Team instructors said you are the best trainer to ever come through."

Brock laughed painfully and hunched forward. "I almost got my entire team killed."

"Is that what you think?" Hector took a step forward into the room. "You know we studied what happened on that OP. What went wrong. You think Cerberus missed something." He waited for the nod of affirmation. "There was a gas leak Brock. The breaching charges ignited it. I'm sorry they didn't figure that out sooner so you would have known before you left." 

Brock sat numbly. When someone dies it feels like you are moving in slow motion or through water. Brock felt that now as he thought of Cerberus and the blame he had placed on himself and his best friend. 

"I asked Jones in the kennels about Cerb. He showed me a picture. Dita could be his twin. Is that why you came inside because you knew I'd have her too?"

Brock turned and for the first time Hector saw the tears. "It wasn't his fault." His breath hitched and he gasped slightly.

"No Brock. Cerb was a good boy always. And you are the best trainer to go through Green Team better even than the canine instructors according to those canine instructors." Hector sat next to Brock on the made bed and placed a hand on his shoulder imitating what Clay did for him when Hector lost his Mom. "He was a good boy. The best boy."


	13. Chapter 13

The men around the fire started checking their watches after fifteen minutes. Whatever Hector thought he could do to make this better was taking longer than they expected. At thirty minutes Clay wrote a text but didn't send it. After forty-five minutes he stood. "What the fuck is going on in there?"

"Whoa there Kid calm down." Sonny stood and moved closer. 

"Calm down? Really Son. Really? It's been close to an hour and I should just calm down?" His voice rose as he continued. "Also I haven't been a Kid in a long fucking time so maybe try my name once in a while." 

"Alright enough!" Jason stood now too hoping to prevent them from coming to blows. 

Clay stood facing Sonny with his fists balled. Rage cascaded through him in waves. Every ounce of hurt and anger from the last five years decided now was the moment to surface. 

"Clay. Brother, you know I don't mean nothing by callin' ya kid." Sonny held his hands up in surrender. 

"Yeah I get that Son, but I wasn't a kid when I was a kid so it's old now." The anger dissipated slightly and Clay deflated. 

"But you'll always be my kid brother..." Sonny looked at the ground. 

"Fuck." Clay turned his back to the group. "FUCK."

"I do have neighbors." Trent was exhausted and beyond over today. He sank deeper into his chair.

"Sorry." Clay turned back to them. 

"Clay, we get that you are pissed at Brock and this whole situation and we aren't saying you have no right to that anger but now isn't the time." Ray moved closer and put a hand on Clay's shoulder.

A dark look spread across his face before he shook the hand off. "Really Ray I'm not mad at Brock." Clay began pacing. Working his jaw and clenching and unflinching his fists. "I'm pissed at you all! And to that no Ray, I don't have a right." His pacing increased in speed. Emotion radiated off him.

And an hour and fifteen minutes after going inside to talk to Brock that is the scene Hector found coming back onto the porch. "Boss..." The young man stepped into the yard and into the path of the pacing. "Boss... hey... look at me!" Hector stood still and forced Clay to stop. "Boss he asked if you would take Anubis inside."

"Of course he fucking did." Clay threw his hands up. "Come." He said it to one dog and two immediately came. "No Dita, you stay here." The dog sat and Clay walked toward the back door with Anubis. 

The door slammed shut behind him. Hector stood awkwardly wishing he could leave but knowing he had to stay. In the last eight months since joining Bravo he had never seen Clay as keyed up as he just did. He had no idea what had happened but knew his boss and brother needed him to stay so he stayed. "This is fun... exactly how I wanted to spend my Friday night."

"Welcome to Bravo, Kid. And plan for many more nights like this one." Metal laughed outright. 

"This might take a while. You want a beer?" Trent stood to move to the cooler.

"Trent, let him get it himself. And while you're at it Hector grab me another." Sonny looked at him expectantly with a smirk on his face. 

"Sure thing." Hector grabbed two beers and took Clay's place at the fire. Dita circled the group going from one man to another before settling near Trent. "You find a new Uncle girl?" Hector smiled. Turning his smile faded. "We ignoring whatever happened while I was gone?" He looked to each of them. 

"That's exactly what we're doing, now shut up and drink your beer." Jason glared. 

Clay stood in Trent's kitchen practicing Box Breathing. Counting to four over and over again. Anubis whined. "Finr, go find him." The dog immediately went to the closed spare bedroom door.

Brock opened the door to his excited dog's scratching. "Hey Bis! I missed you too buddy!" 

"You wanted me to bring him in?" Clay stayed in the kitchen. 

"Yeah. Wanted to talk to you. If that's okay?" Brock crossed the living room and sat at the counter. 

"What's up, man?" Clay stood still.

"I'm sorry for being one of the people who walked away from you." Brock looked into his eyes as he said it. 

"All good. You had reasons." Clay looked to the floor.

"Clay, I'm sorry I left you."

"Said we're good." Clay exhaled audibly. 

"Brother. I wish I could take it back. I'm sorry, Clay." Brock continued to stare.

"Fuck. Brock I said we're square." Clay shuffled his feet.

"I'm truly sorry, Clay." 

"God damn it Brock I said it's fine!" Clay's voice rose.

"It's okay to feel betrayed Clay. It's okay to be angry. Shit Clay I'd understand if you hated me. So yell and be pissed. It's okay, it's okay to feel it." Brock leaned forward. 

"I don't want to yell. I don't want to be pissed and hate you." His words came quietly.

"Am I the first, the first to say they are sorry for walking away?" 

"What is this, Brock? Why are you doing this?"

"Because I need you to know. I need you to see that I regret hurting you." Brock looked down. 

"It was so hard walking back into the briefing room the first day without you all." Clay took a step forward. "Davis held my hand under the table. Blackburn kept it short." 

Clay crossed the room and sat beside Brock. "I should have been there. I'm sorry. At the time it seemed like you knew what to do and how to handle everything and that I was, I don't know, somehow making everything worse."

"I didn't know anything. I felt like I couldn't breath. Like all the air had been sucked from the room. I had to help pick the new Bravo. I'm sure those first couple years my team hated me and they had reason to. It wasn't easy to let them be my brothers." Clay shook his head. "The first BBQ Stella insisted on having no one stayed more than an hour... I think they felt ordered to show up."

"That sounds awful." Brock smiled sadly.

"I deserved it." Clay smiled back. "You remember when Vic came... yeah it was worse than that."

"Yeah, you deserved it." Brock laughed. 

"Hey Brock. I am pissed. And all the other shit, but more at the situation than at you. And I should probably let the guys know that." Clay looked toward the back yard. 

"Cerb was a good boy." He whispered it.

"I know." Clay reached out to him. "The full report came after you were gone. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner... I didn't know how." 

"For so long I blamed myself for failing him. For failing Bravo." Brock's voice cracked. 

"I know you did." Clay looked away. "When I found out I drove toward the cabin... almost hiked to you... but a part of me..."

"A part of you wanted to punish me for leaving you." Brock leaned toward him. "It's okay."

"Is it?" Clay shifted.

"Yes." Brock slowly stood. "Let's go back to the fire."

Trent was leaning all the way back in a lawn chair when Clay and Brock came back outside. His eyes fluttered back open and he righted himself as Anubis bounded toward Dita who still laid at his feet. 

"Hector, you didn't have to stay... but thank you." Clay smiled. 

"No problem, Boss. You good?" 

"Yeah I'm good." Clay glanced at his original brothers hoping they would hear his sincerity. 

"Alright well I'm gonna head out, Luke wanted to meet up." Hector shrugged. 

"Don't overdo it." He said it sternly before adjusting. "Have fun... just not too much." He smiled. 

"I wouldn't stay at your BBQ either." Brock whispered it but they all heard and laughter spread among the group.

"You all knew?" Clay blushed.

"Oh we knew." Ray laughed. "Stella called Naima for advice."

"Wonderful." Clay retook his seat. "I'm sorry about earlier."

"All good Brother. But let's get a couple things straight, firstly can we all agree to keep the meltdowns to one every other day so I can sleep occasionally and secondly Clay we're gonna still call you Kid." Trent yawned. 

"Yeah Trent we can agree to that and I figured." Clay rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, Kid, did you really think one hissy fit would change years of history?" Sonny grinned.

"One could hope?" 

The laughter and banter continued. The fire dwindled to ashes and the first light of morning crept across the horizon. The sound of morning birds mixed with yawns, small snores, and quiet conversation as dawn broke. Beer had long been replaced with water or soda and now coffee dripped from a percolator. Warm and comforting on a cool morning like a well loved sweatshirt. 

Brock shifted and became aware of the pain in his should once again as Trent's eyes cracked open at his gasp. "Okay, meds and beds for us." Trent slowly stood and started toward the house. 

"I'll pull out the sofa, fits two. Trent has a bed. Brock too. Everyone else... figure it out." Metal walked toward the house as they made their ways inside. 

Brock left the door to the living room open. He tried not to laugh as he listened to the debate over who was crashing where. As the meds Trent had given him took affect he pictured the scene in the other room. Metal had given up and told Trent to move over in his bed. The other four were left with a pullout couch and a lazy boy recliner which Jason immediately claimed. 

"Hey Clay! I won't tell Stella you climbed in my bed if you don't." Brock called out. 

"Thank god." Clay laid beside him mindful of his shoulder and listened as Brock drifted to sleep before relaxing himself.


End file.
